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I   DON'T  WANT   TO   BE   JUST  AN   OLD   MAID   SISTER   IN 

SOMEBODY  ELSE'S  HOME.'  "    (See  page  34.) 


Itiary  mare's 
Promised  Cand 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

Author  of  "  The  Little  Colonel  Series,"  "  Blfc  Brother," 

"Ole  Mammy's  Torment,"  "  Joel:  A  Boy  of  Galilee," 

"  Asa  Holmes,"  "  Travelers  Five  on  Life's 

Highway,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  JOHN  GOSS 


BOSTON    #    L.   C.    PAGE 
&  COMPANY   #   MDCCCCXII 


41606 


Copyright,  1912, 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY. 

(INCORPORATED.) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 
All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  October,  1912 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  SIMONDS  *  CO.,  BOSTON,  T3.  5.  A. 


• 


~ 


TO 

MISS  FANNY  CRAIG 

THE  "  MISS  ALLISON  "  OF  THESE  STORIES, 

WHOSE  "ROAD  OF  THE  LOVING  HEART"  RUNS  WIDE  AND  FAR 

THROUGH  ALL  THIS  HAPPY  VALLEY 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  SEEKER  or  NEW  TRAILS   ....  i 

II.  BACK  AT  LONE  -  ROCK 24 

III.  A  NEW  FRIEND 51 

IV.  THE  WITCH  WITH  A  WAND    ....  68 
V.    P  STANDS  FOR  PINK 91 

VI.    TOLD  IN  LETTERS in 

VII.    A  DESERT  or  WAITING 126 

VIII.    A  GREAT  SORROW 144 

PART  II 

I.    BETTY'S  WEDDING 161 

II.  TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE    .  183 

III.  THE  SUPREME  CALL 204 

IV.  "  PINK  "  OR  DIAMOND  Row  .       .       .       .227 
V.  MARY  AND  THE  "  BIG  OPPORTUNITY  "       .  244 

VI.    PHIL  WALKS  IN 266 

VII.  HER  GREAT  RENUNCIATION   ....  278 

VIII.    How  IT  ALL  ENDED 300 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  '  I  DON'T  WANT  TO  BE  JUST  AN  OLD  MAID  SISTER 
IN    SOMEBODY    ELSE'S    HOME  '  : '     (see    page    34) 

Frontispiece 
"  THERE  WAS  ONLY  TIME  TO  ...  HASTILY  CLASP 

THE  LITTLE  GLOVED  HAND  HELD  OUT  TO  HIM  "  4 
"  '  I'LL  SLEEP  BETTER  IF  THEY  ARE  ON  THEIR  POLES 

INSTEAD  OF  ON  MY  MIND  '  '  ....  26 
"  *  I  WISH  WE  COULD  SETTLE  THINGS  BY  A  FEATHER, 

AS  THEY  USED  TO  IN  THE  OLD  FAIRY  TALES  '  :  '    .       77 

"  SEVERAL  TIMES  SHE  STOPPED  JACK  IN  PASSING  TO 

ASK  HIM  A  QUESTION  " Il8 

"  '  DO  YOU  REMEMBER  THE  FIRST  TIME  YOU  EVER 

SAW  THIS?  '" 167 

"  GAZING  INTO  THE  SWEET  FACE  THAT  SEEMED  TO 

SMILE  HELPFULLY  BACK  AT  HER  "...     240 
'  IT  WAS  AS  IF  WE  HAD  REACHED  THAT  LAND  THAT 
WE  USED  TO  SING  ABOUT '  "      .      .      .       .    310 


PART    . 

'••<~- 


MARY  WARE'S 
PROMISED   LAND 


PART    I 

CHAPTER    I 

A    SEEKER    OF    NEW    TRAILS 

WHEN  the  Ware  family  boarded  the  train  in 
San  Antonio  that  September  morning  for  their  long 
journey  back  to  Lone-Rock,  every  passenger  on  the 
Pullman  straightened  up  with  an  appearance  of 
interest.  Somehow  their  arrival  had  the  effect  of 
a  breath  of  fresh  air  blowing  through  the  stuffy  car. 
Even  before  their  entrance  some  curiosity  had  been 
awakened  by  remarks  which  floated  in  from  the 
rear  platform,  where  they  were  bidding  farewell 
to  some  friends  who  had  come  to  see  them  off. 

"  Do  write  and  tell  us  what  your  next  adventures 
are,  Mary,"  exclaimed  one  clear  voice.  "  Your 
family  ought  to  be  named  Gulliver  instead  of  Ware, 

1 


2  MARY   W ARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

for  you  are  always  travelling  around  to  such  queer, 
out-of-the-way  places.  I  suppose  you  haven't  the 
faintest  idea  where  you'll  be  six  months  from 
now." 

"  No,  nor  where  I'll  be  in  even  six  weeks,"  came 
the  answer,  in  a  laughing  girlish  treble.  "  As  I 
told  the  Mallory  twins  when  we  left  Bauer,  I'm 
like  '  Gray  Brother '  now,  snuffing  at  the  dawn 
wind  and  asking  where  shall  we  lair  to-day.  From 
now  I  follow  new  trails.  And,  girls,  I  wish  you 
could  have  heard  Brud's  mournful  little  voice  piping 
after  me  down  the  track,  as  the  train  pulled  out, 
'  Good  hunting,  Miss  Mayry !  Good  hunting ! ' 

"  Oh,  you'll  have  that,  no  matter  where  you  go," 
was  the  confident  answer.  "  And  don't  forget  to 
write  and  tell  us  about  it." 

A  chorus  of  good-byes  and  farewell  injunctions 
followed  this  seeker  of  new  trails  into  the  car,  and 
the  passengers  glanced  up  to  find  that  she  was  a 
bright,  happy-looking  girl  in  her  teens.  She  car 
ried  a  sheaf  of  roses  on  one  arm,  and  some  new 
magazines  under  the  other.  One  noticed  first  the 
alertness  of  the  face  under  the  stylish  hat  with  its 
bronze  quills,  and  then  the  girlish  simplicity  of 
dress  and  manner  which  showed  at  a  glance  that 
she  was  a  thorough  little  gentlewoman.  Her 


A   SEEKER   OF  NEW   TRAILS  3 

mother,  who  followed,  gave  the  same  impression; 
gray-gowned,  gray-gloved,  bearing  a  parting  gift 
of  sweet  violets,  all  that  she  could  carry,  in  both 
hands. 

One  literal  minded  woman  who  had  overheard 
Mary's  remarks  about  lairs  and  new  trails,  and  who 
had  been  on  the  watch  for  something  wild  all  across 
the  state  of  Texas,  looked  up  in  disappointment. 
There  was  nothing  whatever  in  their  appearance 
to  suggest  that  they  had  lived  in  queer  places  or 
that  they  were  on  their  way  to  one  now.  The  fif 
teen  year  old  boy  who  followed  them  was  like  any 
other  big  boy  in  short  trousers,  and  the  young  man 
who  brought  up  the  rear  and  was  undeniably  good 
to  look  at,  gave  not  the  slightest  evidence  of  being 
on  a  quest  for  adventure.  The  only  reason  the 
woman  could  see  for  the  name  of  Gulliver  being 
applied  to  the  family,  was  that  they  settled  them 
selves  with  the  ease  and  dispatch  of  old  travellers. 

While  Jack  was  hanging  up  his  mother's  coat, 
and  Norman  storing  their  suit-cases  away  in  one 
section,  Mary,  in  the  seat  across  the  aisle,  was 
pressing  her  face  against  the  window-pane,  watch 
ing  for  a  parting  glimpse  of  the  friends,  when  they 
should  pass  through  the  station  gate.  A  sudden 
tapping  on  the  glass  outside  startled  her,  and  the 


4  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

next  instant  she  was  exclaiming  excitedly  to  her 
elder  brother,  "  Oh,  quick,  Jack !  Put  up  the  win 
dow,  please.  It's  Gay  and  Roberta !  They're  still 
waiting  out  there !  " 

As  the  window  flew  up,  and  Mary's  head  was 
thrust  out,  passengers  on  that  side  of  the  car  saw 
two  young  girls  standing  on  tiptoe  to  speak  to  her. 
The  one  with  beautiful  auburn  hair  called  out 
breathlessly,  "  Oh,  Mary !  Bogey's  coming !  Pray 
that  the  train  will  stand  one  more  minute !  "  And 
the  other,  the  one  with  curly  lashes  and  mischie 
vous  mouth,  chimed  in,  "  He's  bringing  an  enor 
mous  box  of  candy!  Mean  thing,  to  come  so  late 
that  we  can't  have  even  a  nibble !  " 

Then  those  looking  out  saw  a  young  fellow  in 
lieutenant's  uniform  sprint  through  the  gate,  down 
the  long  station  and  across  half  a  dozen  tracks  to 
reach  the  place  where  Roberta  and  Gay  stood  like 
excited  guide-posts,  wildly  pointing  out  the  win 
dow,  and  beckoning  him  to  hurry.  Red-faced  and 
panting,  he  brought  up  beside  them  with  a  hasty 
salute,  just  as  the  wheels  began  turning  and  the 
long  train  started  to  puff  slowly  out  of  the  station. 
There  was  only  time  to  thrust  the  box  through  the 
window  and  hastily  clasp  the  little  gloved  hand  held 
out  to  him. 


THERE     WAS     ONLY    TIME     TO    ...    HASTILY     CLASP 
THE    LITTLE    GLOVED   HAND   HELD   OUT   TO    HIM." 


A    SEEKER    OF  NEW    TRAILS  5 

"  Say  good-bye  to  the  others  for  me,"  he  called, 
trotting  along  beside  the  moving  train.  "  Sorry  I 
was  late.  I  had  a  lot  of  things  to  tell  you.  I'll 
have  to  write  them." 

"  Do,"  called  Mary,  "  and  let  me  know  —  "  But 
he  was  no  longer  in  hearing  distance  and  the  sen 
tence  was  left  unfinished. 

When  she  drew  in  her  head  there  was  a  deeper 
color  in  her  face  and  such  shining  pleasure  in  her 
eyes,  that  every  fellow  traveller  who  had  seen  the 
little  byplay,  knew  just  what  delight  the  lieutenant's 
parting  attention  had  given  her.  More  than  one 
watched  furtively  with  a  sort  of  inward  smiling  as 
she  opened  the  box  and  passed  it  around  for  the 
family  to  share  and  admire. 

One  person,  especially,  found  entertainment  in 
watching  her.  He  was  the  elderly,  spectacled  gen 
tleman  in  the  section  behind  her.  He  was  an  illus 
trator  for  a  well-known  publishing  house,  and 
Mary  would  have  counted  her  adventures  well 
begun,  could  she  have  known  who  -was  sitting  be 
hind  her,  and  that  one  of  his  famous  cover  designs 
was  on  the  very  magazine  which  lay  open  on  her 
lap.  Well  for  her  peace  of  mind  that  she  did  not 
know  what  he  proceeded  to  do  soon  after  her  ar 
rival.  Producing  a  pencil  and  drawing  pad  from 


6  MARY    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

his  satchel,  he  made  a  quick  sketch  of  her,  as  she 
sat  sideways  in  her  seat,  carrying  on  an  animated 
conversation  with  Jack. 

The  artist  smiled  as  he  sketched  in  the  jaunty 
quills  of  the  hat,  perked  at  just  the  right  angle  to 
make  an  effective  picture.  He  was  sure  that  they 
gave  the  key-note  to  her  character. 

"  They  have  such  an  effect  of  alertness  and 
'  go,'  "  was  his  inward  comment.  "  It's  sensible 
of  her  to  know  that  this  style  gives  her  distinction, 
while  those  big  floppy  affairs  everybody  wears 
nowadays  would  have  made  just  an  ordinary  look 
ing  girl  of  her." 

He  would  have  been  still  more  positive  that  the 
hat  gave  the  key-note  of  her  character,  if  he  had 
seen  the  perseverance  and  ingenuity  that  had  gone 
towards  its  making.  For  she  had  been  her  own 
milliner.  Two  other  hats  had  been  ripped  to  pieces 
to  give  her  material  for  this,  and  the  stylish  brown 
quills  which  had  first  attracted  his  attention,  had 
been  saved  from  the  big  bronze  turkey  which  had 
been  sent  to  them  from  the  Barnaby  ranch  for  their 
Christmas  dinner. 

Before  he  had  made  more  than  an  outline,  the 
porter  came  by  with  a  paper  bag,  and  Mary  whisked 
her  hat  off  her  head  and  into  the  bag,  serenely  un- 


A   SEEKER    OF  NEW    TRAILS  7 

conscious  that  thereby  she  was  arresting  the  devel 
opment  of  a  good  picture. 

Later,  when  Jack  changed  to  the  seiat  facing 
Mary,  and  with  his  elbow  on  the  window  ledge  and 
chin  propped  on  his  fist  sat  watching  the  flying 
landscape,  the  illustrator  made  a  sketch  of  him  also. 
This  time  he  did  not  stop  with  a  bare  outline. 
What  had  seemed  just  a  boyish  face  at  first  glance, 
invited  his  careful  study.  Those  mature  lines  about 
the  mouth,  the  firm  set  of  the  lips,  the  serious  depths 
of  the  grave  gray  eyes,  certainly  belonged  to  one 
who  had  known  responsibilities  and  struggles,  and, 
in  some  way,  he  felt,  conquest.  He  wondered  what 
there  had  been  in  the  young  fellow's  life  to  leave 
such  a  record.  The  longer  he  studied  the  face  the 
better  he  liked  it. 

The  whole  family  seemed  unusually  well  worth 
knowing,  he  concluded  after  a  critical  survey  of 
Norman  and  his  mother,  who  sat  in  the  opposite 
section,  entertaining  each  other  with  such  evident 
interest  that  it  made  him  long  for  some  one  to 
talk  to  himself.  Tired  by  his  two  days'  journey 
and  bored  by  the  monotony  of  his  surroundings,  he 
yawned,  stretched  himself,  and  rising,  sauntered 
out  to  the  rear  platform  of  the  observation  car. 
Here,  some  time  later,  Norman  found  him  smoking 


8  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

and  was  drawn  into  conversation  with  the  stran 
ger,  who  seemed  to  have  a  gift  for  asking  ques 
tions. 

The  conversation  was  confined  principally  to  the 
different  kinds  of  wild  animals  and  snakes  to  be 
found  in  the  state  of  Texas,  and  to  an  amateur 
"  zoo  "  which  Norman  had  once  owned  in  Lone- 
Rock,  the  mining  camp  in  Arizona  that  they  were 
now  going  back  to.  But  incidentally  the  interested 
artist  learned  that  Jack  had  been  assistant  man 
ager  of  the  mines.  That  accounted  for  the  mature 
lines  of  his  face.  They  stood  for  responsibilities 
bravely  shouldered.  He  had  been  almost  killed  by 
an  accident  which  would  have  crushed  several  Mex 
ican  workmen  had  he  not  risked  his  own  life  for 
theirs.  He  had  been  ordered  to  a  milder  climate, 
hence  their  recent  sojourn  in  Texas.  They  had 
supposed  he  would  always  'be  a  helpless  cripple, 
but,  by  an  almost  miraculous  operation,  he  had  been 
restored,  and  was  now  going  back  to  take  his  old 
position. 

Norman  himself  intended  to  be  a  mining  engi 
neer,  he  told  the  stranger  when  questioned.  He 
had  already  begun  to  take  a  practical  course  under 
the  chief  at  the  office.  Mathematics  came  easy  to 
him.  The  other  studies,  which  he  thought  un- 


A   SEEKER   OF  NEW   TRAILS  9 

necessary,  but  which  his  family  insisted  upon,  he 
recited  to  the  minister.  He,  and  another  boy,  Billy 
Downs.  There  were  only  a  few  white  boys  of  his 
age  in  Lone-Rock. 

"  What  does  your  sister  do  for  entertainment  ?  " 
asked  his  questioner,  recalling  the  vivacious  little 
face  under  the  hat  with  the  saucy  bronze  quills. 
"  Doesn't  she  find  it  rather  lonely  there  ?  " 

"  Why,  no !  "  answered  Norman  in  a  surprised 
tone.  "  A  place  just  naturally  quits  being  lone 
some  when  Mary  gets  into  it,  and  she  does  so  many 
things  that  nobody  can  ever  guess  what  she's  going 
to  think  of  doing  next." 

Probably  it  was  because  he  had  a  daughter  of  his 
own,  who,  not  possessing  Mary's  rare  gift,  de 
manded  constant  amusement  from  her  family,  that 
he  turned  his  spectacled  gaze  on  her  with  deepened 
interest  when  he  went  back  into  the  car,  and  many 
times  during  the  rest  of  the  time  that  they  jour 
neyed  together.  She  crossed  the  aisle  to  sit  with 
her  mother  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon,  so  he 
heard  nothing  of  the  conversation  which  appeared 
to  be  of  absorbing  interest  to  them  both. 

But  the  woman  who  had  been  on  the  watch  for 
something  wild  all  the  way  across  the  state,  delib 
erately  arranged  to  hear  as  much  of  it  as  she  could. 


10  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

A  scrap  or  two  that  reached  her  above  the  noise 
of  the  train  made  her  prick  up  her  ears.  She 
changed  her  seat  so  that  she  sat  back  to  back  with 
Mrs.  Ware  and  Mary.  Eavesdropping  on  the  train 
was  perfectly  justifiable,  she  told  her  uneasy  con 
science,  because  there  was  no  personal  element  in 
it.  Of  course  she  couldn't  do  it  at  home,  but  it 
was  different  among  strangers.  All  the  world  was 
a  stage  when  one  travelled,  and  the  people  one  met 
on  a  journey  were  the  actors  one  naturally  looked 
to  to  help  pass  the  time.  So  she  sat  with  her  eyes 
closed,  because  riding  backward  always  made  her 
dizzy,  and  her  head  so  close  to  the  back  of  Mary's 
that  the  bronze  quills  would  have  touched  her  ear 
had  Mary  turned  an  inch  or  two  farther  around  in 
her  seat. 

Presently  she  gathered  that  this  interesting  young 
girl  wras  about  to  go  out  into  the  wide,  wide  world 
to  make  her  fortune,  and  that  she  had  a  list  of 
teachers'  agencies  and  employment  bureaus  to 
which  she  intended  applying  as  soon  as  she  reached 
home.  From  various  magazines  given  her  to  read 
on  the  way,  she  had  cut  a  number  of  advertisements 
which  she  wanted  to  answer,  but  her  mother  ob 
jected  to  most  of  them.  She  did  not  want  her  to 
take  a  place  among  strangers  as  governess,  com- 


A   SEEKER    OF  NEW    TRAILS  II 

panion,  social  secretary,  mother's  helper,  reader  for 
a  clipping  bureau  or  shopping  agent. 

"  You  are  too  young,  Mary,"  she  insisted.  "  One 
never  knows  what  one  is  getting  into  in  strange 
families.  Now,  that  position  in  a  Girls'  Winter 
Camp  in  Florida  does  not  seem  so  objectionable, 
because  they  give  teachers  at  Warwick  Hall  as  ref 
erence.  You  can  easily  find  out  all  about  it.  But 
there  is  no  real  reason  why  you  should  go  away 
this  winter.  Now  that  Jack  has  his  position  again 
and  we  are  all  well  and  strong  we  can  live  like 
lords  at  Lone-Rock  on  his  salary.  At  least,"  she 
added,  smiling,  "  it  must  seem  like  lords  to  some 
of  the  families  in  the  camp.  And  he  can  save  a 
little  each  month  besides." 

"  But,  mother  dear,"  answered  Mary,  a  distressed 
frown  puckering  her  smooth  forehead.  "  I  don't 
want  to  settle  down  for  Jack  to  take  care  of  me. 
I  want  to  live  my  own  life  —  to  see  something  of 
the  world.  You  let  Joyce  go  without  object- 
ing." 

"  Yes,  to  make  an  artist  of  herself.  But  some 
how  that  was  different.  She  had  a  definite  career 
mapped  out.  Her  work  is  the  very  breath  of  life 
to  her,  and  it  would  have  been  wrong  to  hold  her 
when  she  has  such  undoubted  talent.  But  you  see, 


12  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

Mary,  your  goal  is  so  vague.  You  haven't  any 
great  object  in  view.  You're  willing  to  do  almost 
anything  for  the  sake  of  change.  I  verily  believe 
you'd  like  to  try  each  one  of  those  positions  in 
turn,  just  for  the  novelty  of  the  experiences,  and 
the  opportunity  of  meeting  all  those  different  kinds 
of  people." 

Mary  nodded  emphatically.  "  Oh,  I  would !  I'd 
love  it !  "  Then  she  laughed  at  her  mother's  puz 
zled  expression. 

"  You  can't  understand  it,  can  you  ?  Your  whole 
brood  is  turning  out  to  be  the  kind  that  pines  to 
be  '  in  the  swim  '  for  itself.  Still,  you  didn't  cluck 
distractedly  when  Joyce  went  to  New  York  and 
Holland  into  the  Navy,  and  you  followed  Jack  up 
here  when  he  struck  out  for  himself,  and  you  know 
Norman's  chosen  work  is  liable  to  take  him  any 
where  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  So  I  don't  see 
why  you  should  cluck  at  me  when  I  edge  off  after 
the  others." 

Mrs.  Ware  smiled  into  the  merry  eyes  waiting 
for  their  answer.  "  I'm  not  trying  to  stop  you 
entirely,"  she  replied.  "  I'm  only  warning  you  to 
go  slowly  and  to  be  very  careful.  As  long  as  there 
is  nothing  especial  you  have  set  your  heart  on  ac 
complishing,  it  seems  unwise  to  snatch  at  the  first 


A   SEEKER    OF  NEW    TRAILS  13 

chance  that  offers.    You're  very  young  yet,  remem 
ber,  only  eighteen." 

Mary  made  no  answer  for  several  minutes. 
Down  in  her  heart  was  the  feeling  that  some  day 
her  life  would  mean  far  more  to  the  world  than 
Joyce's  career  as  an  artist  or  Holland's  as  a  naval 
officer.  She  had  felt  so  ever  since  that  first  day 
at  Warwick  Hall,  when  she  gazed  up  at  the  great 
window  of  Edryn's  tryst,  where  his  coat  of  arms 
gleamed  like  jewels  in  its  amber  setting.  As  she 
had  listened  to  the  flood  of  wonderful  music  rolling 
up  from  below,  something  out  of  it  had  begun  call 
ing  her.  And  it  had  gone  on  calling  and  calling 
with  the  compelling  note  of  a  far-off  yet  insistent 
trumpet,  into  a  world  of  nameless  longings  and 
exalted  ambitions,  of  burning  desire  to  do  great 
deeds.  And  finally  she  had  begun  to  understand 
that  somewhere,  some  day,  some  great  achievement 
awaited  her.  Like  Edryn  she  had  heard  the  King's 
call,  and  like  him  she  had  whispered  his  answer 
softly  and  reverently  as  before  an  altar : 

"Oh  list! 

Oh  heart  and  hand  of  mine,  keep  tryst  — 
Keep  tryst  or  die !  " 

It  was  still  all  vague  and  shadowy.  With  what 
great  duty  to  the  universe  she  was  to  keep  tryst 


14  MARY    WARE'S   PROMISED   LAND 

she  did  not  yet  know,  and  it  was  now  two  years 
since  she  had  heard  that  call.  But  the  vision  still 
stayed.  Inwardly  she  knew  she  was  some  sort  of 
a  Joan  of  Arc,  consecrated  to  some  high  destiny. 
Yet  when  she  thought  of  explaining  anything  so 
intangible,  she  began  to  smile  at  the  thought  of 
how  ridiculous  such  an  explanation  would  sound, 
shouted  out  in  broad  daylight,  above  the  roar  of 
the  train.  Such  confidences  can  be  given  only  in 
twilight  and  cloisters,  just  as  the  call  itself  can 
come  only  to  those  who  "wake  at  dawn  to  listen 
in  high  places." 

But  feeling  presently  that  she  must  give  some 
definite  reason  to  her  mother  for  wanting  to  start 
out  to  seek  her  fortunes,  she  leaned  across  the 
aisle  and  slipped  a  railroad  folder  from  Jack's  coat 
pocket.  It  had  a  map  on  one  side  of  it,  and  spread 
ing  it  across  both  her  lap  and  her  mother's,  she  laid 
her  finger  on  a  spot  within  the  boundary  lines  of 
Kentucky. 

"  Don't  you  remember  my  little  primary  geog 
raphy?"  she  asked.  "The  one  I  began  to  study 
at  Lee's  ranch?  I  had  a  gilt  paper  star  pasted 
right  there  over  Lloydsboro  Valley,  and  a  red  ink 
line  running  to  it  from  Arizona.  I  remember  the 
day  I  put  them  there,  I  told  Hazel  Lee  that  there 


A   SEEKER   OF  NEW    TRAILS  15 

was  my  '  Promised  Land,'  and  that  I'd  vowed  a 
vow  to  go  there  some  day  if  the  heavens  fell.  I'll 
never  forget  the  horror  on  her  little  freckled  face 
as  she  answered,  'Aw,  ain't  you  wicked !  I  bet  you 
never  get  there  now,  just  for  saying  that ! ' 

"  But  I  did  get  there !  "  she  continued  with  deep 
satisfaction.  "  And  now  I've  made  up  my  mind 
to  go  back  there  to  live  some  of  these  days.  You 
see,  mamma,  my  visit  there  was  like  the  trial  trip 
that  Caleb  and  Joshua  made  to  '  spy  out  the  land.' 
Don't  you  remember  the  picture  in  Grandmother 
Ware's  Bible  of  the  two  men  coming  back  with 
such  an  enormous  bunch  of  grapes  on  a  pole  be 
tween  them  that  they  could  hardly  carry  it?  It 
proved  that  the  fruits  of  Canaan  were  better  and 
bigger  than  the  fruits  of  any  other  country.  That 
was  what  my  visit  did;  proved  that  I  could  be 
better  and  happier  in  Lloydsboro  Valley  than  any 
where  else  in  the  world." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  she  added 
wistfully,  "  Somehow,  when  you're  there,  it  seems 
easier  to  keep  '  the  compass  needle  of  your  soul 
true  to  the  North-star  of  a  great  ambition.'  There's 
so  much  to  inspire  one  there.  I  have  a  feeling  that 
if  I  could  only  go  back  to  live,  I'd  —  Oh,  I  hardly 
know  how  to  express  it!  But  it  would  prove  to 


1 6  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

be  my  '  high  place,'  the  place  where  I'll  hear  my 
call.  So  the  great  reason  why  I  want  to  start  right 
away  to  earn  money  is  that  I  may  have  enough  as 
soon  as  possible  to  buy  a  home  back  there.  That's 
my  dearest  day-dream,  and  I'm  bound  to  make  it 
come  true  if  I  have  to  wander  around  in  the  wil 
derness  of  hard  work  as  long  as  the  old  Israelites 
did  in  theirs.  You're  to  come  with  me.  That's 
one  of  the  best  parts  of  my  dream,  for  I  know  how 
you've  always  loved  the  place  and  longed  to  go 
back.  Now,  don't  you  think  that's  an  object  good 
enough  and  big  enough  to  let  me  go  for  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ware  seized  the  little  hand  spread  out  over 
the  map  of  Kentucky  and  gave  it  an  impulsive 
squeeze. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  If  you're  ever  as  home 
sick  for  the  dear  old  place  as  I  used  to  be  some 
times,  I  can  understand  your  longing  to  go  back 
there  to  live." 

"  Used  to  be !  "  echoed  Mary  blankly,  staring  at 
her  in  astonishment.  "  Aren't  you  now  ?  Wouldn't 
you  be  glad  to  go  back  there  to  spend  the  rest  of 
your  days?  I  don't  mean  right  now,  of  course, 
while  Jack  and  Norman  need  you  so  much  here, 
but  "  —  lowering  her  voice  —  "  I'm  just  as  sure 
as  I  can  be  without  having  been  told  officially  that 


A    SEEKER    OF  NEW   TRAILS  17 

Jack  is  going  to  marry  Betty  Lewis  as  soon  as  his 
finances  are  in  better  shape.  She's  such  a  perfect 
darling  that  they'd  be  happy  ever  after,  and  then 
I  wouldn't  have  any  compunctions  about  taking 
you  away  from  him.  Now  that's  another  reason  I 
don't  want  to  stay  on  here,  just  to  be  an  added 
expense  to  him." 

The  words  poured  out  so  impetuously,  the  face 
turned  toward  her  was  so  eager,  that  Mrs.  Ware 
could  not  dim  its  light  by  answering  the  first  two 
questions  as  she  felt  impelled.  She  answered  the 
last  instead,  saying  that  she  felt  as  Mary  did  about 
Jack's  marriage,  and  that  it  made  her  inexpressibly 
happy  to  think  that  the  girl  he  might  some  day 
bring  home  as  his  bride  was  the  daughter  of  her 
dear  old  friend  and  schoolmate,  Joyce  Allen. 

They  lowered  their  voices  over  this  confidence, 
so  that  the  woman  who  was  sitting  back  to  back 
with  them  shifted  her  position  and  leaned  a  little 
nearer.  Even  then  she  could  not  hear  what  they 
were  saying  till  Mary  returned  to  her  first  question. 

"  But,  mamma,  you  said  '  used  to  be.'  Do  you 
really  mean  that  you  don't  care  for  your  Happy 
Valley  as  much  as  you  used  to?  The  place  you've 
talked  about  to  us  since  we  were  babies,  till  we've 
come  to  think  of  it  as  enchanted  ground  ?  " 


l8  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

Feeling  as  if  she  were  pleading  guilty  to  a  charge 
of  high  treason,  Mrs.  Ware  answered  slowly,  "  No, 
I  can't  truthfully  say  that  I  do  long  for  it  as  I  used 
to.  It's  this  way,  little  daughter,"  she  added 
hastily,  seeing  the  disappointment  that  shadowed 
Mary's  face.  "  I've  been  away  such  a  very,  very 
long  time,  that  there  are  only  a  few  of  my  girlhood 
friends  left.  Betty's  mother  has  been  dead  many 
years.  The  Little  Colonel's  mother  is  really  the 
only  one  I  could  expect  to  find  unchanged.  The 
old  seminary  is  burned  down,  strangers  are  in  the 
homes  I  used  to  visit,  and  I'm  afraid  I'd  find  so 
many  changes  that  it  would  be  as  sad  as  visiting 
a  cemetery.  And  I've  lived  so  long  in  the  West, 
that  I've  taken  root  here  now.  I  think  of  it  as 
home.  I'm  just  as  interested  as  Jack  is  in  building 
up  the  fortunes  of  our  new  state.  I  think  he  is 
going  to  be  a  power  in  it  some  day.  If  I  should 
live  long  enough,  it  would  not  surprise  me  in  the 
least  to  see  him  Governor  of  it  some  time." 

She  folded  one  little  gray-gloved  hand  over  the 
other  so  complacently  as  she  calmly  made  this  an 
nouncement,  that  Mary  laughed  and  shook  her  head 
despairingly. 

"  Oh,  mamma !  mamma !  You  vain  woman ! 
What  fine  swans  all  your  ducklings  are  going  to 


A   SEEKER   OF  NEW   TRAILS  19 

turn  out  to  be !  Jack  a  Governor,  Holland  an  Ad 
miral,  Norman  a  mighty  man  of  valor  (variety 
still  undetermined),  and  Joyce  a  celebrity  in  the 
world  of  art!  Must  I  be  the  only  Simple  Simon 
in  the  bunch?  What  would  you  really  like  to  have 
me  do?  Now,  own  up,  if  you  could  have  your 
choice,  what  is  your  ambition  for  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  confessed  Mrs.  Ware,  "  you're  such  a 
born  home-maker,  that  I'd  like  to  see  you  that  be 
fore  all  else.  I  believe  you  could  make  a  home  so 
much  better  than  your  neighbors,  that  like  the  cre 
ator  of  the  proverbial  mouse-trap,  you  would  have 
the  world  making  a  beaten  track  to  your  door,  even 
though  you  lived  in  the  woods.  As  the  old  Colonel 
once  said,  you  can  be  an  honor  to  your  sex  and  one 
of  the  most  interesting  women  of  your  generation." 

Although  she  spoke  jokingly  there  was  such  a 
note  of  belief  in  her  voice  that  Mary  caught  her 
by  the  arm  and  shook  it,  saying  playfully,  "  Pea 
cock!  If  that's  what  you  hope  for  me,  then  you 
must  certainly  speed  my  parting.  It's  only  in  the 
goodly  land  of  Lloydsboro  that  I  can  measure  up 
to  all  you  expect  of  me.  I'll  try  and  fill  the  bill, 
but  promise  me  this  much.  When  I've  finally 
pitched  my  tent  in  Canaan  and  achieved  that  happy 
home,  then  you'll  come  and  share  it  with  me.  At 


20  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

least,"  she  added  as  Mrs.  Ware  nodded  assent, 
"  what  time  you  are  not  strutting  through  foreign 
salons  or  the  Governor's  mansion,  or  sailing  the 
high  seas  with  the  Admiral." 

The  woman  behind  them  heard  no  more,  for 
Jack  called  them  across  the  aisle  to  look  at  some 
thing  from  his  window,  and  when  they  returned 
to  their  seats  Mrs.  Ware  picked  up  a  magazine  and 
Mary  began  an  absorbing  study  of  the  map.  She 
retraced  the  line  of  her  first  railroad  journey,  the 
pilgrimage  from  the  little  village  of  Plainsville, 
Kansas,  to  Phoenix,  Arizona.  As  she  thought  of 
it,  she  could  almost  feel  the  lump  in  her  throat  that 
had  risen  when  she  looked  back  for  the  last  time 
on  the  little  brown  house  they  were  leaving  forever, 
and  waved  good-bye  to  the  lonesome  little  Christ 
mas  tree  they  had  put  out  on  the  porch  for  the  birds. 

It  was  on  that  trip  that  her  tireless  tongue  had 
made  life-long  friends  of  two  strangers  whom  she 
talked  to:  Phil  Tremont,  and  his  sister  Elsie. 
Her  brothers  had  always  teased  her  about  her 
chatterbox  ways,  but  suppose  she  hadn't  talked  to 
them  that  day.  The  endless  chain  of  happenings 
that  that  friendship  started  never  would  have 
begun,  and  life  would  have  been  far  different  for 
all  of  them. 


A   SEEKER   OF  NEW   TRAILS  21 

Then  her  finger  traced  the  way  to  where  Ware's 
Wigwam  would  have  been  on  the  map  if  it  had 
been  a  spot  large  enough  to  mark.  There  Phil  had 
come  into  their  life  again,  almost  like  one  of  the 
family.  Her  real  acquaintance  with  the  Princess 
Winsome  of  her  dreams  began  there  too,  when 
Lloyd  Sherman  made  her  memorable  visit,  and 
Mary,  with  the  adoring  admiration  of  a  little  girl 
for  the  older  one  whom  she  takes  as  her  ideal  in 
all  things,  began  to  copy  her  in  every  way  possible. 

The  next  line  followed  the  course  of  the  red  ink 
trail  in  her  old  primary  geography,  for  that  was 
the  trail  she  had  followed  back  to  the  gilt  paper 
star  which  stood  for  Lloydsboro  Valley.  The  land 
which  she  had  learned  to  love  through  song  and 
story  had  been  the  dearest  of  all  to  her  ever  since, 
through  the  associations  of  that  happy  summer. 
There  were  several  other  trips  to  retrace  as  she  sat 
with  the  map  spread  out  before  her.  The  long  one 
she  took  to  Warwick  Hall,  where  surely  no  one 
ever  had  fuller,  happier  school-days.  She  did  not 
stop  to  recall  them  now,  thinking  with  satisfaction 
that  they  were  all  recorded  in  her  "  Good  Times 
Book,"  and  that  if  ever  "  days  of  dole,  those  hoar 
frost  seasons  of  the  soul,"  came  into  her  life,  every 
cell  of  that  memory  hive  would  be  stored  with  the 


22  MARY   W ARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

honey  of  their  good  cheer.  So  also  were  her 
Christmas  and  Easter  vacations  recorded,  when  she 
and  Betty  visited  Joyce  in  her  studio  apartment  in 
New  York. 

The  next  line  which  she  traced  was  a  hasty  dash 
back  across  the  map  to  Lone-Rock.  She  always 
tried  to  dash  the  thought  of  it  out  of  mind  just  as 
quickly.  The  heart-breaking  agony  of  it,  when  she 
was  flying  home  to  find  her  brother  a  hopeless  crip 
ple,  was  too  terrible  to  recall  even  now,  after  long 
time,  when  he  was  sitting  beside  her,  strong  and 
well. 

Then  her  finger  trailed  down  across  the  map, 
retracing  their  last  journey  the  year  before  to  San 
Antonio  and  the  hill  country  above  it.  In  many 
ways  it  had  been  a  hard  year,  but,  remembering 
its  happy  outcome,  she  said  to  herself  that  it  should 
be  marked  by  triple  lines  of  red.  They  had  gone 
down  to  the  place,  strangers  in  a  strange  land,  they 
were  coming  away  with  some  of  the  warmest  friend 
ships  of  their  lives  binding  them  fast  to  it.  Down 
there  Jack  had  had  his  wonderful  recovery,  which 
was  above  and  beyond  all  that  their  wildest  hopes 
had  pictured.  And,  too,  it  was  the  last  place  where 
she  would  have  expected  to  meet  Phil  Tremont 
again.  Yet  he  had  appeared  suddenly  one  day  as 


A   SEEKER    OF  NEW    TRAILS  23 

if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to 
be  standing  there  by  the  huisache  tree  to  help  her 
over  the  fence  of  the  blue-bonnet  pasture. 

"  By  what  has  been,  learn  what  will  be,"  she  re 
peated,  and  then  idly  pricked  that  motto  into  the 
edge  of  the  folder  with  a  pin,  as  she  went  on  re 
calling  various  incidents.  Judging  by  her  past  she 
had  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  future  might 
be  full  of  happy  surprises;  so,  as  she  studied  the 
map  now,  it  was  to  wonder  which  way  the  new 
trails  would  lead  her. 

"  Any  way  at  all !  "  she  thought  fervently.  "  I 
don't  care  which  direction  they  take,  if  they'll  only 
come  around  to  the  Happy  Valley.  I'm  bound  to 
get  there  at  any  cost." 

Presently  she  folded  up  the  map  and  sat  gazing 
dreamily  out  of  the  window.  An  old  song  that  was 
often  on  her  lips  came  to  her  mind,  but,  this  time, 
she  parodied  it  to  suit  her  hopes : 

"  For  if  I  go  not  by  the  road,  and  go  not  by  the  hill, 
And  go  not  by  the  far  sea  way,  yet  go  I  surely  will ! 
Close  all  the  roads  of  all  the  world — Love's  road  is  open  still." 


CHAPTER    II 

BACK    AT    LONE  -  ROCK 

THE  home-coming  was  keenly  pleasant.  Mary, 
who  had  been  going  over  the  house  helping  to 
throw  open  all  the  doors  and  windows,  paused  in 
the  cheerful  living-room.  The  September  sun  shone 
across  the  worn  carpet  and  the  familiar  furniture 
which  had  served  them  even  in  the  days  of  the 
little  brown  house. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  I  could  be  so  glad  to  get 
back  to  these  old  tables  and  chairs,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  actually  gives  you  a  real  thrill  to  be  welcomed 
by  something  that's  known  you  since  babyhood, 
doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack.  "  They've  been  consid 
erably  mixed  up  with  our  family  history,  and  bear 
more  of  the  scars  of  our  battles  than  we  do.  That 
little  chair  of  Joyce's  for  instance.  Back  in  the 
days  of  my  kilts  and  curls  I  used  to  kick  dents  in 
it  every  time  we  had  a  scrap,  because  I  couldn't 
fight  a  girl,  and  I  had  to  let  off  steam  some  way.'* 

24 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK    .  25 

"  This  is  my  especial  friend,"  said  Mary.  She 
dropped  into  a  wide  rocker  that  held  out  welcoming 
arms.  "  Holland  and  I  used  to  play  in  this  by  the 
hour.  It's  a  wonder  there's  anything  left  of  it. 
We  had  it  for  a  stage-coach  so  many  times,  and 
turned  over  in  it  whenever  it  was  attacked  by  the 
Indians.  I  used  to  curl  up  in  it  before  the  fire, 
to  read  or  dream  or  cry  in  it,  till  it  knows  me  in  all 
my  moods  and  tenses.  Some  of  these  days,  when 
I  go  to  live  in  my  old  Kentucky  home,  I  shall  ask 
mamma  to  let  me  take  it  with  me  just  for  old  times' 
sake." 

Jack  opened  the  door  of  the  clock  and  began 
winding  the  weights  that  had  hung  idle  for  nearly 
a  year.  When  the  swinging  pendulum  once  more 
began  its  deep-toned  tick-tock,  he  looked  back  over 
his  shoulder  with  a  smile. 

"  Now  I  feel  that  I'm  really  at  home  when  I  hear 
that  voice.  As  far  back  as  I  can  remember  it's 
always  been  saying,  'All  right!  All  right!'  I 
made  the  nurse  carry  it  back  into  the  kitchen  where 
I  couldn't  hear  it  the  day  the  doctor  told  me  I  could 
never  walk  again.  Its  cheerfulness  nearly  drove 
me  wild  when  I  knew  that  everything  was  so  hope 
lessly  all  wrong.  But  now  listen !  "  he  insisted 
exultantly.  "  Everything  is  all  right  now,  and 


26  MARY   W ARE'S  PROMISED   LANt) 

every  day  is  Thanksgiving  Day  to  me  the  year 
around." 

There  was  a  huskiness  in  his  voice  as  he  added, 
"  Nobody  can  know  what  it  means  to  me  —  the 
blessedness  of  being  able  to  go  to  work." 

He  dashed  away  to  the  office  soon  after  to  dis 
cover  what  had  been  done  in  his  long  absence. 
Norman  hurried  through  the  tasks  assigned  to  him 
as  soon  as  possible,  impatient  to  be  off  to  explore 
old  haunts  with  Billy  Downs.  Two  pairs  of  quick, 
capable  hands  made  light  work  of  the  cleaning  and 
unpacking  that  had  to  be  done  that  day,  and  accom 
plished  much  more  that  might  have  been  left  till 
another  time  had  not  Mary's  usual  zeal  for  getting 
everything  in  proper  place  in  the  least  possible  time 
taken  possession  of  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  mamma,"  she  called  back  in 
answer  to  a  protest  from  the  next  room.  "  These 
curtains  could  wait  till  to-morrow,  but  they  are  all 
fresh  and  ready  to  hang,  and  I'll  sleep  better  if  they 
are  on  their  poles  instead  of  on  my  mind." 

As  she  climbed  up  and  down  the  step-ladder  her 
thoughts  were  not  on  the  curtains  which  she  ad 
justed  mechanically,  nor  on  the  song  which  she  was 
humming  in  the  same  way.  She  was  composing 
the  letter  which  she  intended  sending  to  the  Girls' 


I'LL  SLEEP  BETTER  IF  THEY  ARE  ON  THEIR  POLES 
INSTEAD  OF  ON  MY  MIND.'  " 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  27 

Winter  Camp  in  Florida,  applying  for  the  vacant 
position,  and  she  wanted  to  make  it  perfect  of  its 
kind.  Mrs.  Ware,  watching  the  zest  with  which 
she  fell  upon  her  work  of  beautifying  the  little  cot 
tage,  thought  it  must  be  because  she  felt  the  truth 
of  the  refrain  which  she  sang  softly  over  and  over : 

"  'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces,  tho'  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home." 

She  was  so  glad  to  be  back  herself,  that  presently, 
Avhen  she  had  occasion  to  go  through  the  room 
again,  she  joined  in  for  a  few  notes  in  passing. 

The  sweet  alto  voice  made  Mary  suddenly  aware 
of  what  she  was  singing,  and  she  gave  a  guilty 
little  start,  glad  that  her  mother  could  not  know 
that  her  thoughts  had  all  been  absorbed  in  planning 
to  get  away  from  the  home  she  was  singing  about 
so  fondly. 

"  It  does  seem  nicer  to  be  back  than  I  thought 
it  would,"  she  admitted  to  herself.  "  But  maybe 
that's  because  I  know  I  don't  have  to  stay.  Even 
the  finest  cage  in  the  world  is  more  attractive  with 
its  door  open  than  shut." 

Although  she  did  not  realize  the  fact,  much  of 
her  hurry  to  get  the  house  in  order  was  due  to  a 
feeling  that  the  summons  to  take  advantage  of  that 


28  MARY    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

open  door  might  come  very  soon,  and  she  wanted 
to  be  ready  when  it  came. 

Late  that  afternoon  she  started  to  the  post-office 
with  two  letters,  one  to  the  principal  of  the  Girls' 
Camp,  the  other  to  the  teacher  in  Warwick  Hall 
who  had  been  given  as  reference. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  my  application  will  get  there  in  time, 
and  I  hope  my  references  will  be  satisfactory,"  she 
thought  earnestly.  "  They  ought  to  be  impressed, 
with  a  list  which  begins  with  Bishop  Chartley  and 
Madam,  and  General  Walton's  wife,  and  includes 
twenty  people  from  New  York  to  Fort  Sam  Hous 
ton  in  Texas." 

Just  then  a  wagon,  bearing  a  huge  load  of  hay, 
creaked  slowly  along  the  road  past  her,  and  a  half 
forgotten  superstition  of  her  childhood  flashed  into 
her  mind.  Hazel  Lee  had  told  her  once  that  if  you 
make  a  wish  on  a  hay-wagon  it  will  come  true  if 
"  yes  "  is  the  first  word  you  say  after  doing  so. 
But  should  you  be  asked  a  question  requiring  any 
other  answer,  or  should  it  be  necessary  to  make  a 
remark  not  beginning  with  the  magic  yes,  you'll 
"  lose  your  wish." 

So  it  was  with  a  smile  at  the  old  foolishness  that 
Mary  watched  the  loaded  wagon  go  lumbering  by. 
She  had  wished  for  a  speedy  and  favorable  reply 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  29 

to  the  letter  she  was  about  to  post.  It  had  been  a 
point  of  honor  with  Hazel  and  herself  whenever 
the  other  came  running  up,  significantly  tapping 
mute  lips  with  an  impatient  forefinger,  to  ask,  "  Do 
you  love  candy?  "  or  "  Do  you  like  peaches?  "  rec 
ognizing  the  necessity  of  some  question  to  which 
the  liberated  little  tongue  could  respond  with  a  fer 
vent  yes.  Boys  were  always  so  mean  about  it,  ask 
ing,  "  Do  you  want  me  to  pull  your  hair?  "  or  "  Do 
you  love  Peter  Finn?"  a  half-witted  boy  in  the 
neighborhood. 

The  childish  rite  brought  up  a  little  of  the  old 
thrill  of  apprehension,  that  no  one  might  ask  her 
the  proper  question  to  make  her  wish  come  true, 
and  Mary  smiled  broadly  over  her  own  foolishness 
as  she  went  on  up  the  street.  It  was  the  only  street 
which  Lone-Rock  boasted;  just  a  straggling  road, 
beginning  down  by  the  railroad  station  and  the 
mine  offices,  and  ending  farther  up  the  mountain  in 
a  narrow  wagon  track.  The  houses  of  the  white 
families  were  scattered  along  it  at  uneven  intervals 
for  the  space  of  half  a  mile.  Then  one  came  to  a 
little  wooden  school-house  on  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  the  tiny  box  of  a  room  which  served  as  a 
post-office.  The  school-house  was  used  as  a  chapel 
one  day  out  of  the  week.  The  mining  company's 


30  MARY    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

store  was  beyond  that,  and  a  little  farther  along, 
the  colony  of  shanties  where  the  Mexican  workmen 
and  their  families  lived. 

The  fact  that  Mary  had  met  no  one  since  leaving 
home  and  that  only  the  hay-wagon  had  passed  her, 
emphasized  the  loneliness  of  the  little  hamlet  and 
made  her  glad  that  she  need  not  look  forward  to 
spending  a  winter  there.  Her  quick  eyes  noted  a 
few  changes,  however,  which  promised  interesting 
things.  Five  new  houses  had  gone  up  in  their  ab 
sence.  There  was  a  piano  in  one  of  them,  Billy 
Downs  had  told  Norman,  and  Mr.  Moredock,  the 
man  in  the  new  yellow  house,  who  had  come  for 
his  health,  was  writing  a  history  of  some  kind,  and 
had  brought  a  whole  wagon-load  of  books. 

The  postmaster  would  know  all  about  the  new 
comers,  Mary  reflected  with  satisfaction.  One  of 
her  pleasures  of  coming  back  was  meeting  her  old 
friend,  the  postmaster,  and  at  thought  of  him  she 
walked  a  little  faster.  Captain  Doane  had  held  the 
office  ever  since  Lone-Rock  had  been  a  mail  sta 
tion,  and  in  a  way  was  a  sort  of  father  confessor 
to  everybody  in  the  place.  A  clean-shaven  jolly  old 
face  with  deep  laughter  wrinkles  about  the  blue 
eyes,  which  twinkled  through  steel-bowed  specta 
cles,  bushy  iron-gray  hair  and  bristling  eyebrows  — 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  31 

that  was  about  all  one  saw  through  the  bars  of  the 
narrow  delivery  window.  But  so  much  kindly  sym 
pathy  and  neighborly  interest  and  good  advice  and 
real  concern  were  handed  out  with  the  daily  mail, 
that  every  man  in  the  community  regarded  him  as 
his  personal  friend. 

There  were  only  two  mail  trains  a  day  in  Lone- 
Rock,  and  at  this  hour  Mary  was  sure  of  finding 
him  at  leisure.  Seeing  him  through  the  open  win 
dow,  sound  asleep  in  his  arm-chair  over  an  open 
newspaper,  with  his  spectacles  slipping  down  his 
nose,  Mary  was  about  to  spring  in  the  door  with 
a  playful  "  boo."  But  she  remembered  her  wish  on 
the  hay-wagon  and  the  necessity  of  waiting  for  him 
to  speak  first.  So  she  only  rattled  the  latch.  He 
started  up,  a  little  bewildered  from  his  sudden  awa 
kening,  but  seeing  who  had  come,  dashed  off  the 
old  slouch  hat,  perched  on  the  back  of  his  head. 

"  Well,  bless  my  soul !  "  he  cried  heartily,  com 
ing  forward  with  an  outstretched  hand.  "  If  it 
isn't  our  little  Mary  Ware !  I  heard  you  were  back 
and  I've  been  looking  all  afternoon  for  you  to  drop 
in.  Have  you  come  back  to  stay,  this  time  ?  " 

There  was  an  instant  of  hesitation,  as  she  con 
sidered  how  she  could  reply  to  such  a  question  hon 
estly  with  a  yes.  Then  she  stammered,  "  Y-yes, 


32  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

for  a  little  while.  That  is,  just  for  a  few  weeks." 
Then  she  draw  a  long  breath.  "  My !  That  was  a 
narrow  escape.  I've  been  wondering  all  the  way 
up  the  street  what  would  be  the  first  thing  you'd 
say  to  me,  and  for  a  second  I  was  afraid  you'd 
ruined  my  chances." 

Her  laugh  rang  out  merrily  at  his  bewildered 
exclamation.  "  The  chances  for  my  wish  coming 
true,"  she  explained.  "  I  made  one  on  a  hay-wagon, 
coming  along,  about  this  letter." 

"Sit  down  and  give  an  account  of  yourself," 
he  insisted,  and  as  she  had  come  for  a  visit  she  will 
ingly  obeyed.  But  she  would  not  take  his  chair  at 
the  desk  as  he  urged,  climbing  instead  to  the  only 
other  seat  which  the  office  afforded.  It  was  a  high 
stool  beside  the  shelf  where  pens,  ink  and  money- 
order  blanks  awaited  the  needs  of  the  public.  Mary 
had  often  occupied  it,  and  from  this  perch  had  given 
the  Captain  some  of  the  most  amusing  hours  of  his  • 
life. 

He  had  missed  her  when  she  went  away  to  school, 
and  he  never  handed  out  the  letters  to  her  family 
postmarked  "  Warwick  Hall  "  without  a  vision  of 
the  friendly  little  girl  swinging  her  feet  from  her 
seat  on  this  high  stool,  as  she  told  him  amazing 
tales  of  Ware's  Wigwam  and  a  place  somewhere 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  33 

off  in  Kentucky  that  she  seemed  to  regard  as  a  cross 
between  the  Land  of  Beulah  and  the  Garden  of 
Eden.  When  she  came  back  from  Warwick  Hall 
she  no  longer  dangled  her  feet,  but  sat  in  more 
grown-up  fashion,  her  toes  propped  on  the  round 
below.  And  she  seldom  stayed  long.  There  was 
too  much  to  be  done  at  home,  with  Jack  needing 
such  constant  attention.  But  her  short  accounts 
of  boarding-school  life  were  like  glimpses  into  a 
strange  world,  and  he  carried  home  all  she  told 
to  repeat  to  his  wife;  for  in  an  out-of-the-way 
corner  of  the  universe,  where  little  happens,  the 
most  trivial  things  are  accounted  of  vital  inter 
est. 

Now  he  had  many  questions  to  ask  about  Jack's 
recovery.  It  was  a  matter  of  household  rejoicing 
in  Lone-Rock  that  he  had  come  back  able  to  take 
his  old  place  among  them.  Mary  satisfied  his  curi 
osity  and  gave  a  brief  outline  of  their  doings  while 
away,  but  she  had  questions  of  her  own  to  ask. 
How  was  Aunt  Sally  Doane?  The  Captain's  wife 
was  "  Aunt  Sally  "  by  courtesy  to  the  entire  settle 
ment.  Was  her  rheumatism  better,  and  was  the  old 
red  rooster  still  alive  ?  Was  it  true  that  Mr.  More- 
dock  was  an  author,  and  how  many  young  people 
had  the  new  families  brought  with  them  ? 


34  MARY    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

But  all  roads  led  to  the  Rome  of  her  heart's 
desire,  and  between  her  questions  and  the  Captain's 
she  kept  jumping  back,  grasshopper-like,  to  the  sub 
ject  uppermost  in  her  mind.  His  cordial  interest, 
unlike  her  family's  half-hearted  consenting,  led  her 
into  further  confidences. 

"  Jack  wants  me  to  wait  awhile  and  study  at 
home  until  he  can  afford  to  send  me  back  to  War 
wick  Hall,  but  I  might  be  in  my  twenties  before  that 
time,  and  the  girls  in  my  classes  would  be  so  much 
younger  that  they'd  look  upon  me  as  a  hoary  old 
patriarch.  Of  course  I'd  be  better  equipped  for 
what  I  hope  to  do  eventually,  .but  it  would  give  me 
such  a  late  start,  and  there  are  a  number  of  things 
that  I  am  fitted  to  do  right  now.  Besides,  it  would 
handicap  Jack  to  spend  so  much  on  me.  It's  only 
natural  to  expect  that  he'll  want  to  marry  and  settle 
down  some  of  these  days,  and  he  might  not  be  able 
to  do  it  as  soon  as  he  otherwise  would  if  he  had 
me  to  support  and  keep  at  college.  And,  Captain 
Doane,  I  don't  want  to  be  just  an  old  maid  sister 
in  somebody  else's  home,  even  if  it  is  the  home  of 
the  dearest  brother  in  the  world." 

The  Captain  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
until  the  steel-bowed  spectacles  slid  down  his  nose 
again. 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  35 

"  Much  danger  of  your  being  an  old  maid  sister 
in  anybody's  home,  in  a  place  like  this  where  pretty 
girls  are  scarcer  than  hens'  teeth,"  he  declared, 
teasingly.  "  I  know  a  likely  young  lad  this  minute 
who'd  gladly  save  you  from  that  fate.  He's  been 
around  several  times  lately,  inquiring  when  you 
might  be  expected  back." 

Mary  was  nearly  consumed  with  curiosity  to  ask 
who  the  likely  lad  was,  but  only  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders  incredulously,  knowing  that  that  would  be  the 
surest  way  of  provoking  him  to  a  disclosure. 

"  Well,  he  has! "  insisted  the  Captain.  "  It's 
young  Upham,  if  you  must  know." 

Mary's  brows  drew  together  in  a  vain  effort  to 
recall  him,  and  she  shook  her  head.  "  Upham  ? 
Upham?  I  never  heard  of  him." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  have,"  insisted  the  Captain.  "  He 
drove  a  lumber  wagon  for  the  company  summer 
before  last.  But  he's  been  to  school  in  Tucson  all 
the  time  you've  been  away,  and  has  just  come 
back." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Pink  Upham !  "  exclaimed  Mary, 
suddenly  enlightened,  with  an  emphasis  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  Oh,  that  boy !  He  doesn't  count." 

The  Captain  interpreted  the  emphasis  and  re 
sented  it. 


36  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

"  Just  let  me  tell  you,  little  Miss  Disdain,  he's 
a  lad  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  He's  come  back  the 
likeliest  young  man  in  all  these  parts." 

Again  Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  smiled 
unbelievingly.  Her  recollection  of  Pink  Upham 
was  of  a  big  red- faced  fellow  overgrown  and  awk 
ward,  with  a  disgusting  habit  of  twisting  every 
one's  remarks  into  puns,  and  of  uttering  trite  truths 
with  the  air  of  just  having  discovered  them.  The 
warning  whirr  of  a  clock  about  to  strike  made  her 
spring  down  from  the  stool  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise. 

"  I  had  no  idea  I  was  staying  so  long.  I've  an 
errand  at  the  store  too,  so  I'll  have  to  hurry." 

"  Well,  I'll  see  that  your  letter  gets  started  all 
right,"  he  assured  her.  "  You  can't  expect  an 
answer  before  ten  days  at  the  earliest,  can 
you?" 

She  turned  back  from  the  door  and  stood,  con 
sidering.  "  I  had  counted  it  at  about  that,  but  I 
didn't  think  —  if  they  wait  to  hear  from  the  people 
I've  referred  them  to,  especially  those  farthest  away, 
it  might  be  double  that  time.  That  would  keep  me 
waiting  clear  into  October.  And  then  suppose 
somebody  were  ahead  of  me,  and  I  shouldn't  get  the 
place,  there'd  be  all  that  time  lost.  It  would  be 


BACK   AT  LONE -ROCK  37 

tragic  to  have  the  little  ship  I'd  waited  for  so  long, 
drift  in  a  wreck." 

"  That's  why  I  always  hold  that  it's  best  to  send 
out  more  than  one,"  said  the  Captain.  "  Launch  a 
whole  fleet  of  'em,  is  my  advice.  What  makes  life 
a  tragedy  for  most  people  is  that  they  put  all  their 
hopes  on  just  one  thing.  They  load  all  they've 
got  on  one  vessel  and  then  strain  their  eyes  for  a 
lifetime  waiting  for  it  to  come  back  with  all  their 
hopes  realized.  But  if  they'd  divide  their  interests 
and  affections  around  a  bit,  and  start  them  off  in 
different  directions,  there'd  never  be  a  danger  of 
total  wreck.  If  one  went  down,  there'd  be  some 
other  cargo  to  look  forward  to." 

It  was  a  pet  subject  of  the  old  man's,  and  Mary 
made  haste  to  ward  off  his  usual  monologue  by  say 
ing,  "  I'll  certainly  take  your  advice,  Captain  Doane. 
You'll  see  me  down  here  to-morrow  with  a  whole 
harbor  full  of  little  ships.  I'll  launch  all  the  ap 
plications  that  my  family  will  allow." 

The  figure  of  speech  pleased  her,  and  as  she 
walked  on  to  the  store  a  vision  of  blue  sea  rose  be 
fore  her.  On  it  she  seemed  to  see  a  fleet  of  little 
boats  with  white  sails  swelling  in  the  wind.  On 
each  sail  was  a  letter  and  all  together  they  spelled 
"  Great  Expectations." 


38  MARY    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

"  It's  funny,"  thought  Mary,  "  how  such  a  picture 
popped  right  up  in  front  of  me.  Now,  if  Joyce  had 
such  a  fancy  she'd  do  something  with  it.  It  would 
suggest  a  title  design  or  a  tail  piece  of  some  kind. 
Oh,  why  wasn't  I  born  with  a  talent  for  writing! 
My  'head  is  just  full  of  things  sometimes  that  would 
make  the  loveliest  stories,  but  when  I  try  to  put 
them  on  paper  it's  like  trying  to  touch  the  rainbows 
on  a  bubble.  The  touch  makes  them  vanish  in 
stantly." 

It  was  some  crash  towelling  that  she  was  to  call 
for  at  the  store. 

When  she  opened  the  door,  the  place  seemed 
deserted,  but  she  picked  her  way,  among  barrels 
and  boxes,  saddles  and  hams,  to  the  dry-goods 
department  in  the  rear.  Through  the  open  back 
door  she  could  see  two  men  in  the  yard,  one 
repairing  a  chicken-coop,  and  the  other  standing 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  watching  the  job. 
The  man  with  the  hammer  and  saw,  she  knew.  He 
was  the  manager  of  the  store.  The  other  was  a 
new  clerk,  who  had  been  installed  in  her  absence. 
She  glanced  at  him  curiously,  for  one  reason  be 
cause  every  newcomer  counted  for  so  much  in  the 
social  life  of  the  place,  for  another  because  he  was 
so  imposingly  large.  "  Even  taller  than  Phil 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  39 

Tremont/'  she  thought,  and  Phil  was  her  standard 
of  all  that  a  man  should  measure  up  to  in  every 
way. 

Presently,  seeing  that  the  chicken-coop  would 
occupy  their  attention  indefinitely  unless  she  made 
some  sign,  she  tapped  on  the  floor  with  her  heel. 
It  was  the  new  clerk  who  turned,  and  taking  his 
hands  out  of  his  pockets,  strode  in  to  wait  on  her. 
She  noticed  that  he  had  to  stoop  as  he  came  through 
the  doorway.  Then  she  almost  forgot  what  it  was 
she  had  come  to  buy,  in  her  surprise.  For  it  was 
Pink  Upham  who  rushed  up  to  greet  her,  still  red- 
faced  and  awkward  and  facetious,  but  sudi  a  dif 
ferent  Pink  that  she  could  understand  why  the  Cap 
tain  had  spoken  of  him  as  Pinckney,  instead  of  by 
his  undignified  nickname.  The  year  at  college  had 
done  him  good. 

While  he  measured  off  the  crash  she  was  taking 
his  measure  with  quick,  critical  glances.  It  was  not 
his  pale,  straw-colored  hair  she  objected  to,  made  to 
look  even  paler  by  the  contrast  of  his  florid  con> 
plexion  and  red  four-in-hand  with  its  turquoise 
scarf-pin.  It  was  the  way  he  combed  his  hair  that 
she  criticized,  and  the  gaudy  tie  and  the  combina 
tion  of  colors.  But  his  cordial  greeting  softened 
her  critical  glances  somewhat.  He  was  genuinely 


40  MARY   WARE'S   PROMISED   LAND 

glad  to  see  her,  and  it  was  flattering  to  be  wel 
comed  so  heartily. 

That  night  at  the  supper  table  she  recounted 
her  adventures.  "  I  met  Pink  Upham  at  the 
store  to-day,  Jack.  How  old  do  you  suppose 
he  is?" 

"  Oh,  about  twenty-one.     Why  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  scarcely  knew  him  before  we  went  away, 
and  he  called  me  by  my  first  name  as  pat  as  you  may 
please,  and  I  didn't  like  it.  And  when  he  rolled  up 
the  towelling  he  crooked  his  little  finger  in  such  an 
affected,  genteel,  Miss  Prim  sort  of  way  that  it 
made  his  big  fat  hands  look  ridiculous.  I  don't 
know  exactly  what  it  was  about  him  that  irritated 
me  so,  but  I  couldn't  bear  him.  And  yet  it  seemed 
that  he  was  so  near  being  nice,  that  he  could  be 
awfully  likable  if  he  wasn't  so  self-conscious  and 
queer." 

"  He's  all  right,"  answered  Jack.  "  Pink  is  a 
good-hearted  fellow,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world,  but  he's  green.  You  see,  he  hasn't  any 
sisters  to  call  him  down  and  make  fun  of  his  man 
nerisms  and  set  him  straight  on  his  color  schemes 
and  such  things.  Now,  a  girl  in  his  position  could 
get  her  bearings  by  going  the  rounds  of  the  Home 
Magazines  and  Ladies'  Companions,  reading  all  the 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  41 

Aunt  Jenny  Corners  and  columns  of  advice  to  anx 
ious  correspondents.  But  there  are  not  so  many 
fountains  of  information  and  inspiration  for  a 
young  man." 

"  Now,  there's  your  mission  in  life,  Mary,"  spoke 
up  Norman.  "  You  are  strong  on  giving  advice  and 
setting  people  straight.  If  you  could  only  get  some 
magazine  to  take  you  on  for  a  column  of  that  kind, 
you  might  accomplish  a  world  of  good.  You  could 
send  marked  copies  to  Pink,  and  it  might  be  the 
making  of  him." 

Norman  expected  his  teasing  remarks  to  meet 
with  <an  amusing  outburst,  and  was  surprised  when 
she  pretended  to  take  his  suggestion  seriously. 
Her  eyes  shone  with  the  interest  it  awakened. 

"  Say !  I'd  like  that,"  she  answered  emphatically. 
"  I  really  would.  I'd  call  it  Uncle  Jerry's  Corner, 
and  I'd  certainly  enjoy  making  up  the  letters  myself 
so  that  I  could  have  good  spicy  replies  for  my  cor 
respondents." 

Norman,  just  in  the  act  of  drinking,  almost 
choked  on  the  laugh  which  seized  him.  "  Excuse 
me,"  he  spluttered,  putting  the  glass  down  hastily, 
"  but  Mary  in  the  role  of  Uncle  Jerry  is  too  funny. 
Why,  Sis,  you  couldn't  be  a  proper  Uncle  Jerry 
without  chin  whiskers.  The  editors  wouldn't  give 


42  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

such  a  column  to  anybody  without  them.     A  girl 
could  never  fill  a  position  like  that." 

"  Indeed  she  could,"  Mary  protested.  "  I  knew 
a  girl  at  school  who  earned  her  entire  spending 
money  for  a  year,  one  vacation,  by  writing  an  Aunt 
Ruth's  Column  for  the  weekly  paper  in  her  home 
town.  She  was  only  eighteen,  and  the  most  harum- 
scarum  creature  you  ever  saw.  She  had  been  en 
gaged  four  times,  and  once  to  two  boys  at  the  same 
time.  And  she  used  to  lay  down  the  law  in  her  ad 
vice  column  like  a  Puritan  forefather.  Just  scored 
the  girls  who  flirted  and  accepted  valuable  presents 
from  men,  and  who  met  clandestinely  at  friends' 
houses. 

"  Her  letters  were  so  good  that  several  parents 
wrote  to  the  paper  congratulating  them  on  that  de 
partment.  And  all  the  time  she  was  doing  the  very 
things  which  she  preached  against.  She  and  Char 
lotte  Tatwell  were  chums,  and  in  all  sorts  of  sera 
together.  Charlotte's  rather  used  to  mourn  ov 
her  wild  ways  and  try  to  keep  her  from  running 
much  with  Milly.  He  thought  that  Milly  had  su 
a  bad  influence  over  her.  He  hadn't  the  faintest 
idea  that  she  wrote  the  Aunt  Ruth  advice,  and  twice, 
when  it  seemed  particularly  well  aimed  at  Char 
lotte's  faults,  he  made  her  sit  down  and  listen  while 


BACK   AT  LONE -ROCK  43 

he  read  it  aloud  to  the  family.  Charlotte  thought 
it  was  such  a  good  joke  on  her  father  that  she  never 
enlightened  him  till  he'd  repeated  the  performance 
several  times.  He  wouldn't  believe  it  at  first,  didn't 
think  it  possible  that  Milly  could  have  written  it, 
till  Charlotte  proved  that  she  really  had. 

"  If  she  could  do  that,  I  don't  see  why  I  couldn't 
write  better  advice  to  boys  than  a  doddering  old 
man  who  has  only  his  recollections  to  draw  on.  I 
could  criticize  the  faults  that  I  see  before  me.  Boys 
need  to  be  shown  themselves  as  they  appear  to  the 
girls,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  I'll  act  on  Norman's  sug 
gestion,  and  take  it  up  as  a  side-line." 

When  supper  was  cleared  away  Mary  brought  out 
her  writing  material  and  wrote  several  applications 
for  the  positions  which  she  knew  she  was  qualified 
to  fill.  She  could  teach  in  the  primary  or  grammar 
grades,  or  take  beginner's  classes  in  Domestic  Sci 
ence.  She  knew  that  she  could  adapt  herself  to 
almost  any  kind  of  person  as  companion,  and  her 
experience  with  the  Mallory  twins  made  her  con 
fident  that  she  could  do  wonders  with  small  chil 
dren,  no  matter  how  refractory.  She  soon  had  a 
whole  fleet  of  applications  ready  to  launch  in  the 
morning.  Then,  inspired  by  the  conversation  at  the 
supper-table,  she  tried  her  hand  at  a  few  answers 


44  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

to  imaginary  correspondents,  in  which  were  set 
forth  certain  criticisms  and  suggestions  which  she 
burned  to  make  to  Pink  in  person,  and  several  others 
which  were  peculiarly  well  fitted  to  Norman. 

Next  morning,  when  Norman  came  back  from 
the  store  with  the  basket  of  groceries  which  it  was 
his  daily  task  to  bring,  he  began  calling  for  Mary 
at  the  front  gate,  and  kept  it  up  all  the  way  to  the 
kitchen  door.  When  she  appeared,  towel  in  hand, 
asking  what  was  the  matter,  he  set  the  basket  on  the 
step. 

Then  with  mock  solemnity  he  reached  into  his 
pocket  and  pulled  out  a  lavender  envelope ;  lavender 
crossed  faintly  with  gray  lines  to  give  a  checked 
effect.  It  was  addressed  in  purple  ink  to  Miss  Mary 
Ware,  and  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner  was  writ 
ten,  with  many  ornate  flourishes,  "  K.  O.  B."  It 
smelled  so  strongly  of  rose  geranium  perfume  that 
Mary  sniffed  disapprovingly  as  she  took  it. 

"  Pink  asked  me  to  bring  it,"  said  Norman  with 
a  grin.  "  He's  to  send  a  boy  up  for  an  answer  at 
three  o'clock.  What  do  you  suppose  '  K.  O.  B/ 
stands  for  ?  " 

Mary  puzzled  over  it,  shaking  her  head,  then 
broke  the  large  purple  seal. 

"  Oh,  it  must  mean  *  kindness  of  bearer,'  for  he 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  45 

begins  the  note  that  way.  '  By  kindness  of  bearer  I 
am  venturing  to  send  this  little  missive  to  know  if 
it  will  be  convenient  for  you  to  give  me  the  pleasure 
of  your  company  this  evening.  A  messenger  will 
call  for  your  answer  at  three  P.  M.  Trusting  that 
it  will  accord  with  my  desires,  I  am  yours  in  friend 
ship's  bonds,  P.  Pinckney  Up*ham.' ' 

Norman  exploded  with  a  loud  "  whoopee !  "  of 
laughter  and  Mary  sniffed  again  at  the  strong  odor 
of  rose  geranium  and  handed  the  note  to  her 
mother,  who  had  come  to  the  door  to  see  the  cause 
of  Norman's  mirth. 

"  The  silly  boy,"  exclaimed  Mary.  "  I  told  him 
yesterday,  when  he  said  that  he  hoped  to  call,  that 
we'd  all  be  glad  to  see  him  any  evening  he  wanted 
to  drop  in.  The  idea  of  such  formality  in  a  mining 
camp.  And  such  paper!  And  such  flourishes  of 
purple  ink,  to  say  nothing  of  the  strong  perfume! 
Mamma,  I  don't  want  him  coming  to  see  me." 

Mrs.  Ware  handed  the  note  back  with  a  smile  at 
Mary's  disgusted  expression.  "  Don't  judge  the 
poor  boy  too  severely.  He  evidently  tried  his  best 
to  do  the  proper  thing,  and  probably  thinks  he  has 
achieved  it." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Jerry,"  added  Norman.  "  Here's 
your  chance.  Here's  your  tide  in  the  affairs  of 


46  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

men,  which  taken  at  the  flood  leads  on  to  fortune! 
Just  cultivate  Pink's  acquaintance  and  you'll  get 
enough  out  of  him  every  week  to  fill  your  columns." 

Mary  ignored  his  teasing,  turning  again  to  her 
mother  to  say :  "  I  don't  want  to  answer  his  note. 
What  did  he  write  for,  anyway?  Why  didn't  he 
just  come,  as  I  told  him  he  could  ?  " 

"  That's  the  way  Sara  Downs'  beau  does,"  ex 
plained  Norman.  "  He  always  makes  an  engage 
ment  so  that  she'll  be  sure  to  have  the  best  room 
lighted  up  and  Billy  out  of  the  way.  He's  too  bash 
ful  to  talk  to  the  whole  family.  They  usually  go 
out  to  the  kitchen  when  he  comes,  because  their 
house  is  so  small." 

"  Well,  this  family  won't,"  declared  Mary. 
"  He's  no  '  beau,'  anyway.  You'll  all  have  to  help 
entertain  him." 

She  had  not  answered  the  note  when  Jack  came 
home  at  noon,  and  she  passed  it  to  him  without  com 
ment.  He  smiled  a  little  over  her  evident  disgust, 
and  repeated  in  substance  what  Mrs.  Ware  had  said, 
that  she  must  not  judge  him  too  severely  for  his 
lack  of  social  polish. 

"  He's  a  diamond  in  the  rough,  Mary,"  he  as 
sured  her  gravely,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
"  He  may  be  one  of  the  leading  citizens  of  the  state 


BACK  AT  LONE -ROCK  47 

twenty  years  from  now,  and  even  if  he  isn't,  he's 
one  of  the  few  young  fellows  of  the  settlement,  and 
a  decent  one  at  that,  and  you  can't  afford  to  snub 
him  because  he  is  green." 

"  Green  Pink  is  a  new  kind  of  color,"  teased 
Norman.  "  Say,  Mary,  are  you  going  to  put  a 
'  K.  O.  B.'  on  your  answer?  " 

Mary  ignored  his  question.  It  irritated  her  to  be 
teased  about  Pink  as  much  as  it  used  to  annoy  her 
to  be  teased  about  the  half-witted  Peter  Finn. 

When,  in  answer  to  her  note,  P.  Pinckney  Up- 
ham  called  that  evening,  he  did  not  find  her  sitting 
up  alone  in  state  to  receive  him.  He  was  ushered  in 
to  the  cheerful  living-room,  where  the  entire  family 
was  gathered  around  the  lamp,  putting  a  new  dis 
sected  puzzle  together.  Before  he  knew  how  it 
came  about  his  bashfulness  had  vanished  and  he 
was  a  part  of  that  circle.  When  the  puzzle  was 
completed  Mary  brought  out  a  chafing-dish  and  a 
bowl  of  nuts,  which  she  commanded  him  to  "  pick 
out "  while  Jack  cracked  them.  She  was  going  to 
try  a  new  kind  of  candy.  Later,  when  he  disclosed 
the  fact  that  he  could  play  a  little  on  the  guitar, 
Norman  brought  out  his  mother's,  bidding  him 
"  tune  up  and  plunk  away." 

Now  if  there  was  one  thing  Pink  was  fond  of 


48  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

it  was  sweets,  and  if  there  was  one  thing  he  was 
proud  of  it  was  his  tenor  voice,  and  presently  he 
began  to  feel  that  he  was  having  the  time  of  his  life. 
They  were  all  singing  with  him,  and  stopping  at 
intervals  to  pass  tihe  candy  and  tell  funny  stories. 
He  was  a  good  mimic  and  had  a  keen  sense  of 
humor,  and  he  was  elated  with  the  consciousness 
that  he  had  an  appreciative  audience.  In  spite  of 
her  certainty  that  the  evening  would  be  a  bore,  Mary 
found  herself  really  enjoying  it,  until  she  realized 
that  Pink  was  having  such  a  good  time  that  he 
didn't  want  to  leave.  Later  she  concluded  that  he 
wanted  to  go  but  didn't  know  how  to  tear  himself 
away  gracefully. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'd  better  be  going,"  he  said 
when  the  clock  struck  ten.  It  struck  eleven  when 
he  said  it  the  second  time,  and  it  was  quarter  past 
when  he  finally  pulled  himself  out  of  his  chair  and 
looked  around  for  his  hat.  They  all  rose,  and  Jack 
brought  it.  With  that  in  hand,  he  still  lingered, 
talking  at  random  in  a  way  that  showed  his  evident 
inability  to  take  his  leave. 

Finally  Mrs.  Ware  put  out  her  hand,  saying, 
"  We've  enjoyed  having  you  with  us  so  much,  this 
evening,  Pinckney.  You  must  come  often." 

Jack   echoed    the    invitation   with    a   handshake, 


BACK   AT  LONE -ROCK  49 

and  Mary  added  gaily,  "  And  after  this,  whatever 
you  do,  don't  write  first  to  announce  your  coming. 
We're  used  to  the  boys  just  dropping  in  informally. 
We  like  it  so  much  better  that  way." 

Pink  stopped  to  reply  to  that,  hesitated  with  his 
hand  on  the  knob,  and  leaning  against  the  door, 
made  some  remark  about  the  weather.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  he  was  fixed  to  stay  until  the  clock  struck 
again. 

Mary  reached  up  to  the  match-safe  hanging  near 
the  door  and  handed  him  a  match.  "  I  wish  you'd 
scratch  this  as  you  go  out,  and  see  how  the  ther 
mometer  stands.  It's  hanging  on  the  post  just  at 
the  right  hand  of  the  porch  steps.  Call  back  what 
it  registers,  please.  Thirty-six?  Oh,  thank  you! 
I'm  sure  there'll  be  frost  before  morning.  Good 
night." 

She  closed  the  door  and  came  back  into  the  room, 
pretending  to  swoon  against  Jack,  who  shook  her, 
exclaiming  laughingly,  "  I  think  that  was  a  frost, 
right  now." 

Just  then,  Norman,  who  had  disappeared  an 
hour  earlier,  cautiously  opened  the  door  of  his  bed 
room  a  crack.  He  was  clad  in  his  pajamas.  See 
ing  that  the  coast  was  clear  he  thrust  out  a  dishev 
elled  head  and  recited  dramatically: 


50  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

" '  Parting    is    such    sweet    sorrow 
I   fain   would   say  goodnight   until   it  be  to-morrow.' " 

Mary  blinked  at  him  sleepily,  saying  with  a 
yawn,  "  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you,  son.  You  can 
take  this  from  your  Uncle  Jerry,  that  there  is  no 
social  grace  more  to  be  desired  than  the  ability  to 
make  a  nimble  and  graceful  exit  when  the  proper 
time  comes." 

As  she  turned  out  her  light,  later,  she  said  to 
herself,  "  I'm  glad  I  don't  have  to  look  forward  to 
a  whole  lifetime  in  Lone-Rock.  One  such  evening 
is  pleasant  enough,  but  a  whole  winter  of  them 
would  be  dreadful."  Then  she  went  to  sleep  and 
dreamed  that  her  little  fleet  of  boats  had  all  come 
home  from  sea,  each  one  so  heavily  laden  with 
treasure  that  she  did  not  know  which  cargo  to  draw 
in  first. 


CHAPTER    III 

A    NEW    FRIEND 

ALTHOUGH  some  of  the  applications  which  Mary- 
sent  out  did  not  have  as  far  to  travel  as  the  first 
one,  she  did  not  count  on  hearing  from  any  of  them 
within  two  weeks.  However,  it  was  to  no  fort 
night  of  patient  waiting  that  she  settled  clown. 
She  threw  herself  into  such  an  orgy  of  preparations 
for  leaving  home,  that  the  days  flew  around  like  the 
wheels  of  a  squirrel  cage. 

She  could  not  afford  any  new  clothes,  but  every 
thing  in  her  wardrobe  was  rejuvenated  as  far  as 
possible,  and  a  number  of  things  entirely  remod 
elled.  One  by  one  they  were  folded  away  in  her 
trunk  until  everything  was  so  shipshape  that  she 
could  have  finished  packing  at  an  hour's  notice. 
Then  she  insisted  on  giving  some  freshening  touches 
to  her  mother's  winter  outfit,  and  on  beginning  a 
set  of  shirts  for  Norman,  saying  that  she  wanted  to 
finish  all  the  work  she  possibly  could  before  leaving 

home. 

51 


52  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

Mrs.  Ware  used  to  wonder  sometimes  at  her 
boundless  energy.  She  would  whirl  through  the 
housework,  help  prepare  the  meals,  do  a  morning's 
ironing,  run  the  sewing  machine  all  afternoon,  and 
then  often,  after  supper,  challenge  Norman  to  some 
such  thing  as  a  bonfire  race,  to  see  which  could  rake 
up  the  greatest  pile  of  autumn  leaves  in  the  yard,  by 
moonlight. 

These  days  of  waiting  were  filled  with  a  queer 
sense  of  expectancy,  as  the  air  is  sometimes  charged 
with  electric  currents  before  a  storm.  No  matter 
what  she  did  or  what  she  thought  about,  it  was  al 
ways  with  the  sense  of  something  exciting  about  to 
happen.  The  feeling  exhilarated  her,  deepened  the 
glow  in  her  face,  the  happy  eagerness  in  her  eyes, 
until  every  one  around  her  felt  the  contagion  of  her 
high  hopefulness. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  you're  always  looking 
so  pleased  over,"  the  old  postmaster  said  to  her  one 
day,  "  but  every  time  after  you've  been  in  here.  I 
catch  myself  smiling  away  as  broadly  as  if  I'd  heard 
some  good  news  myself." 

"  Maybe,"  answered  Mary,  "  it's  because  I  feel 
all  the  time  as  if  I'm  just  going  to  hear  some.  It's 
so  interesting  wondering  what  turn  things  will  take. 
It's  like  waiting  for  the  curtain  to  go  up  on  a  new 


A   NEW   FRIEND  53 

play  that  you've  never  heard  of  before.  My  curtain 
may  go  up  in  any  part  of  the  United  States.  It 
all  depends  on  which  letter  it  is  that  brings  me  a 
position." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  be  a  leetle  mite  anxious," 
said  the  Captain,  who  was  in  somewhat  of  a 
pessimistic  mood  that  day.  "  They  can't  all 
be  equally  good.  You  remember  what  the  old 
hymn  says : 

"  '  Should  I  be  carried  to  the  skies  on  flowery  beds  of  ease 

Whilst  others  fought  to  win  the  prize,  and  sailed  through  bloody 

seas.'  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  expecting  any  flowery  beds  of 
ease,"  retorted  Mary.  "  I  don't  mind  hard  work 
and  all  sorts  of  disagreeable  things  if  they'll  only 
prove  to  be  stepping-stones  to  carry  me  through  my 
Red  Sea.  I  don't  even  ask  to  go  over  dry-shod  as 
the  Children  of  the  Exodus  did.  All  I  want  is  a 
chance  to  wade." 

"That's  right!  That's  right!"  ex-claimed  the 
Captain  admiringly.  "  That's  the  proper  spirit  to 
show.  It's  a  pity,  though,  that  you  can't  do  your 
wading  somewhere  around  Lone-Rock.  We'll  miss 
you  dreadfully.  And  I'm  not  the  only  one  who 
thinks  so,  either.  From  all  I  hear  there's  somebody 
up  the  street  who  would  almost  rob  the  mails  if  do- 


54  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

ing  so  would  keep  you  from  getting  a  letter  calling 
you  away." 

From  the  twinkle  of  the  eyes  which  peered  at  her 
through  the  steel-bowed  glasses,  Mary  knew  that 
he  was  referring  to  Pink  Upham,  but  before  she 
could  reply  the  mail  carrier  dashed  up  on  horseback 
from  the  railroad  station,  with  the  big  leather  pouch 
swung  across  the  horse  in  front  of  him.  It  was  the 
signal  for  every  one  along  the  street,  who  had  seen 
him,  to  come  sauntering  into  the  office  to  wait  for 
the  distribution  of  the  mail.  Mary  climbed  up  on 
the  high  stool  again.  She  had  started  out  from 
home,  intending  to  take  a  tramp  far  up  the  moun 
tain  road,  but  stopping  in  the  office  to  post  a  letter 
had  stayed  on  talking  longer  than  she  intended. 

Pink  Upham  was  one  of  the  first  to  come  in.  He 
had  been  at  the  house  several  times  since  his  first 
call,  and  while  some  of  his  mannerisms  annoyed 
Mary  even  more  than  they  had  at  first,  she  liked 
him  better  as  their  acquaintance  progressed.  She 
could  not  help  being  pleased  at  the  attention  he  gave 
her  slightest  remarks.  No  girl  can  be  wholly  oblivi 
ous  to  the  compliment  of  having  every  word  remem 
bered,  every  preference  noted.  Once,  when  they 
were  looking  at  some  soap  advertisements,  in  a  most 
careless  off-hand  way  she  had  expressed  her  dislike 


A   NEW  FRIEND  55 

for  strong  perfumes.  Since  then  the  odor  of  rose 
geranium  was  no  longer  noticeable  in  his  wake. 
Once  she  announced  her  admiration  of  a  certain  kind 
of  scarlet  berry  which  grew  a  long  distance  up  the 
mountain.  The  next  day  there  was  a  bunch  of 
them  left  at  her  door.  Pink  had  taken  a  tramp  be 
fore  breakfast  to  get  them  for  her. 

There  was  a  family  discussion  one  night  about 
celluloid.  Nobody  could  answer  one  of  Mary's 
questions  in  connection  with  it  about  camphor  gum, 
and  she  forgot  it  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  asked, 
although  she  had  assumed  an  air  of  intense  curiosity 
at  the  time.  But  Pink  remembered.  He  thought 
about  it,  in  fact,  as  one  of  his  chief  duties  in  life  to 
find  its  answer,  until  he  had  time  to  consult  Mr. 
Moredock's  encyclopaedia. 

At  his  last  visit  to  the  Wares  he  had  seen  a  kodak 
picture  of  Mary,  taken  at  the  Wigwam  years  before. 
She  was  mounted  on  the  Indian  pony  Washington. 
She  wore  short  dresses  then.  Her  wide-brimmed 
Mexican  sombrero  was  on  the  back  of  her  head, 
and  she  was  laughing  so  heartily  that  one  could  not 
look  at  the  picture  without  feeling  the  contagion 
of  her  enjoyment.  There  was  nothing  she  liked 
better  than  horseback  riding,  she  remarked  as  she 
laid  the  picture  aside,  but  she  had  not  tried  it  since 


56  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

she  was  a  child.  That  was  one  thing  she  was  look 
ing  forward  to  in  her  promised  land,  she  told  him, 
to  owning  a  beautiful  thoroughbred  saddle-horse, 
like  Lloyd  Sherman's. 

Then  Pink  was  shown  "  The  Little  Colonel's 
Corner,"  for  the  collection  of  Lloydsboro  Valley 
pictures  were  grouped  in  panels  on  one  wall  of  the 
Lone-Rock  home  as  they  had  been  at  the  Wigwam. 
First  there  was  Lloyd  in  her  little  Napoleon  hat, 
riding  on  Tarbaby  down  the  long  locust  avenue,  and 
then  Lloyd  on  the  horse  that  later  took  the  place 
of  the  black  pony.  Then  Lloyd  in  her  Princess 
Winsome  costume,  with  the  dove  and  the  spinning- 
wfieel,  and  again  in  white,  beside  the  gilded  harp, 
and  again  as  the  Queen  of  Hearts  and  as  the  Maid 
of  Honor  at  Eugenia's  wedding. 

In  showing  these  pictures  to  Pink  and  telling 
him  how  well  Lloyd  rode  and  how  graceful  she  was 
in  the  saddle,  Mary  forgot  her  casual  remark  about 
her  own  enjoyment  of  riding,  but  Pink  remem 
bered.  He  had  thought  about  it  at  intervals  ever 
since.  Now  catching  sight  of  her  on  the  high  stool, 
he  hurried  into  the  post-office  to  tell  her  that  he 
could  secure  two  horses  any  morning  that  she 
would  go  out  with  him  before  breakfast.  His  uncle 
owned  the  team  of  buckskins  which  drew  the  de- 


A   NEW   FRIEND  57 

livery  wagon,  and  was  willing  for  him  to  use  them 
any  morning  before  eight  o'clock.  They  were  not 
stylish-looking  beasts,  he  admitted,  like  Kentucky 
thoroughbreds,  but  they  were  sure-footed  and  used 
to  mountain  trails. 

As  Mary  thanked  him  with  characteristic  en 
thusiasm,  she  was  conscious  of  a  double  thrill  of 
pleasure.  One  came  from  the  fact  that  ha  had 
planned  such  enjoyment  for  her,  the  other  that  he 
had  remembered  her  casual  remark  and  attached  so 
much  importance  to  it.  She'd  let  him  know  later 
just  when  she  could  go,  she  told  him.  She'd  have 
to  see  her  mother  first,  and  she'd  have  to  get  up 
some  kind  of  a  riding  skirt. 

Then  the  Captain  threw  up  the  delivery  window, 
and  half  a  dozen  people  who  had  .been  waiting 
crowded  forward  to  get  their  mail.  Mary  waited 
on  the  stool  while  Pink  took  his  turn  at  the  window 
and  came  back  with  her  mail.  His  own,  and  that 
for  the  store,  he  drew  out  from  one  of  the  large 
locked  boxes  below  the  pigeon-holes.  While  he 
was  unlocking  it  Mary  looked  over  the  letters  he 
had  laid  in  her  lap.  There  was  one  from  Joyce, 
one  to  her  mother  from  Phil  Tremont,  and  one 
bearing  the  address  in  an  upper  corner  of  one  of 
the  agencies  to  which  she  had  written.  She  opened 


58  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

it  eagerly,  and  Pink,  watching  her  from  the  corner 
of  his  eye  as  he  sorted  a  handful  of  circulars,  saw 
a  shade  of  disappointment  cross  her  face.  Every 
one  else  had  left  the  office.  She  looked  up  to  see 
the  old  Captain  smiling  at  her. 

"  First  ship  in  from  sea,"  he  remarked  knowingly. 
"  Well,  what's  the  cargo?  " 

"  No  treasure  aboard  this  one.  It's  just  a  printed 
form  to  say  that  they  have  no  vacancies  at  present, 
but  have  put  me  on  the  waiting  list,  and  will  inform 
me  if  anything  comes  up  later." 

"  Well,  there're  others  to  hear  from,"  the  Cap 
tain  answered.  "  That's  the  good  of  putting  your 
hopes  on  more  than  one  thing.  In  the  meantime, 
though,  don't  get  discouraged." 

"  Oh,  I'll  not,"  was  the  cheerful  answer.  "  You 
see,  I  have  two  mottoes  to  live  up  to.  One  was  on 
the  crest  that  used  to  be  sported  in  the  ancestral  coat 
of  arms  once  upon  a  time,  awray  back  in  mamma's 
family.  It  was  a  winged  spur  with  the  words 
'  Ready,  aye  ready.' 

"  The  other  is  the  one  we  adopted  ourselves  from 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield :  '  Let  us  be  inflexible,  and 
fortune  will  at  last  change  in  our  favor.'  So  there 
I  am,  ready  to  go  at  a  moment's  notice,  but  also 
bound  to  keep  inflexible  and  wait  for  a  turn  if  for- 


A   NEW   FRIEND  59 

tune  wills  it  so.  I  don't  know  what  the  Ware  fam 
ily  would  do  sometimes  without  that  saying  of  the 
old  Vicar's.  His  philosophy  has  helped  us  out  of 
more  than  one  hole." 

The  Captain,  rather  vague  in  his  knowledge  as 
to  the  old  Vicar,  nodded  sagely.  "  Pretty  good 
philosophy  to  tie  to,"  he  remarked.  Pink,  to  whom 
the  Vicar  was  merely  a  name,  one  of  many  in  a 
long  list  of  English  novels  he  had  once  memorized 
for  a  literature  recitation,  made  no  response.  He 
felt  profoundly  ignorant.  But  remembering  Mr. 
Moredock's  hospitable  remark  that  the  latchstring 
of  his  library  was  always  out  for  his  friends,  he 
resolved  to  borrow  the  book  that  very  night  after 
closing  hours,  and  discover  what  there  was  in  it 
that  had  "  helped  the  Ware  family  out  of  more  than 
one  hole." 

As  he  and  Mary  left  the  office  together  the  Cap 
tain  called  after  her,  "  By  the  way,  I  noticed  a  for 
eign  stamp  on  one  of  your  letters.  Mexican,  wasn't 
it?  If  you're  not  making  a  collection  yourself,  I'd 
like  to  speak  for  it.  My  little  grandson's  just 
started  one,  and  I've  promised  him  all  I  can  get." 

Mary  paused  on  the  doorstep.  "  The  letter  is 
mamma's,  but  I'm  sure  she  would  not  mind  if  I 
were  to  cut  the  stamp  out  of  the  envelope." 


60  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

In  an  instant  Pink's  knife  was  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  he  was  cutting  deftly  around  the  stamp,  while 
Mary  held  the  envelope  flat  against  the  door.  He 
did  it  slowly,  in  order  not  to  cut  through  into  the 
letter,  and  he  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  big  dash 
ing  hand  in  which  it  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Emily 
Ware.  It  looked  so  familiar  that  it  puzzled  him 
to  recall  where  he  had  seen  it  before. 

"  I  can  bring  you  a  lot  more  like  this,  if  you 
want  them,"  said  Mary,  as  she  gave  the  stamp  to 
the  postmaster.  "  Jack  and  I  each  get  letters  from 
this  friend  down  in  Mexico,  and  he  writes  to 
mamma  nearly  every  week." 

The  Captain  thanked  her  emphatically,  and  she 
and  Pink  started  off  again,  she  towards  home  and 
he  towards  the  store.  A  dozen  times  before  closing 
hours  Pink  recalled  the  scene  at  the  post-office, 
Mary  holding  the  letter  up  against  the  door  for 
him  to  cut  out  the  stamp.  What  firm,  capable-look 
ing  little  hands  she  had,  with  their  daintily  kept 
nails,  and  how  pink  her  cheeks  were,  and  how  fluffy 
and  brown  the  hair  blowing  out  from  under  the 
stylish  little  hat  with  the  bronze  quills. 

Each  time  he  recalled  the  letter  he  puzzled  over 
the  familiar  appearance  of  the  address,  until  sud 
denly,  as  he  was  filling  a  jug  at  the  spigot  of  a 


A   NEW   FRIEND  6l 

molasses  barrel,  he  remembered.  He  had  seen  the 
same  handwriting  under  a  photograph  on  the  man 
tel  at  Mrs.  Ware's :  "  Philip  Tremont,  Necaxa, 
Mexico."  And  on  the  back  was  pencilled,  "  For 
Aunt  Emily,  from  her  '  other  boy.' '  Mary  had 
called  upon  Pink  to  admire  the  picture  which  had 
arrived  that  same  day,  and  had  referred  to  Phil 
several  times  since  as  "  The  Best  Man." 

Pink  almost  let  the  molasses  jug  overflow,  while 
thinking  about  it  and  wondering  why  she  had  given 
him  such  a  nickname.  He  resolved  to  ask  her  why 
if  he  could  ever  screw  his  courage  up  to  such  a  point. 

Mary,  hurrying  home  with  the  letters  from 
Joyce  and  Phil,  eager  to  hear  what  was  in  them, 
never  gave  Pink  another  thought  till  after  supper, 
when  she  remembered  his  invitation  and  began  a 
search  for  Joyce's  old  riding-skirt.  It  was  not  in 
any  of  the  trunks  or  closets  in  the  house,  but  re 
membering  several  boxes  which  had  been  stored  in 
the  loft  above  the  woodshed,  she  made  Jack  climb 
up  the  ladder  with  her  to  open  them,  while  she  held 
the  lantern.  At  the  bottom  of  the  last  box  they 
found  what  she  was  searching  for,  not  only  the 
khaki  skirt,  but  the  little  Norfolk  jacket  which  com 
pleted  the  outfit.  Thanks  to  Joyce's  orderly  habits 
they  had  been  packed  away  clean  and  whole,  and 


62  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

needed  only  the  magic  touch  of  a  hot  iron  to  make 
them  presentable. 

There  was  something  else  in  the  box  which  Mary 
pounced  upon  and  carried  down  the  ladder.  It  was 
a  bag  containing  odds  and  ends  of  zephyrs  and 
yarns,  left  from  various  afghans  and  pieces  of 
fancy  work.  Opened  under  the  sitting-room  lamp 
it  disclosed,  among  other  things,  several  skeins  of 
wool  as  red  as  the  flash  of  a  cardinal's  wing. 
"  Enough  to  make  a  whole  Tam-O'-Shanter !  "  ex 
claimed  Mary  jubilantly,  "  and  a  fluffy  pompon 
on  top!  I  can  have  it  ready  by  day  after  to-mor 
row.  I've  been  wondering  what  I  could  wear  on 
my  head.  I  simply  can't  keep  a  hat  on  when  I  ride 
fast!  Here,  Norman,  be  a  dear  duck  of  a  brother 
and  hold  this  skein  while  I  wind,  won't  you  ?  " 

Norman  made  a  wry  face  and  held  out  his  arms 
with  pretended  unwillingness,  but  she  slipped  the 
skein  over  his  hands,  saying,  "  Item  for  Uncle 
Jerry's  Column.  '  A  young  gentleman  should  al 
ways  spring  nimbly  to  the  service  of  a  lady,  and 
offer  his  assistance  with. alacrity.' ' 

"  Say,"  he  interrupted  in  the  tone  of  one  having 
a  real  grievance.  "  You've  got  to  quit  making  a 
catspaw  of  me  when  you  want  to  teach  Pink  Up- 
ham  manners.  You  know  well  enough  that  I  always 


A   NEW  FRIEND  63 

pick  up  your  handkerchief  and  stand  until  mamma 
is  seated,  and  things  like  that,  so  you  needn't  hint 
about  'em  to  me  when  he's  here.  You're  just  trying 
to  slap  at  Pink  over  my  shoulders." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that," 
laughed  Mary.  "  It's  for  the  good  of  your  country, 
my  boy.  I'm  just  trying  to  polish  up  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  new  state  that  you  and  mamma  and 
Jack  are  so  interested  in.  Besides,  Pink  is  so  quick 
to  take  a  hint  that  it's  really  interesting  to  see  how 
much  a  few  suggestions  can  accomplish." 

"  Humph !  You're  singing  a  different  tune  from 
what  you  did  at  first.  You  thought  he  was  so  tire 
some  and  his  laugh  so  awful  and  that  he  had  such 
dreadful  taste  —  " 

"  I  still  think  so,"  answered  Mary,  "  but  I  don't 
notice  his  wild  laugh  so  much  now  that  I  am  used 
to  it,  and  he  has  many  traits  which  make  him  very 
companionable.  Besides,  I  am  sorry  for  him.  He'd 
have  been  very  different  if  he'd  had  your  oppor 
tunities,  for  instance." 

"  Mary  is  right,"  agreed  Mrs.  Ware,  smiling  at 
Norman's  grimace.  "  I  think  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  to  ask  him  to  stop  when  you  come  back  from 
your  ride  and  have  breakfast  with  us." 

Norman  groaned,  then  said  with  a  vigorous  nod 


64  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

of  the  head,  since  his  hands  were  too  busy  with  the 
skein  for  gestures,  "  Well,  have  him  if  you  want 
to,  but  I'll  give  you  fair  warning,  Mary  Ware,  if 
you  go  to  getting  off  any  of  your  Uncle  Jerry  re 
marks  on  me  for  his  benefit,  I'll  let  the  cat  right 
out  of  the  bag." 

Mary  replied  with  a  grimace  so  much  like  his 
own,  that  it  brought  on  a  contest  in  which  the  yarn 
winding  was  laid  aside  for  a  time,  while  they  stood 
before  a  mirror,  each  trying  to  outdo  the  other  in 
making  grotesque  faces. 

Two  mornings  after  that,  in  Joyce's  khaki  riding- 
suit  and  the  new  red  Tam-O'-Shanter,  Mary  swung 
into  the  saddle  while  Pink  held  both  horses,  and 
they  were  off  for  an  early  gallop  in  the  frosty  Oc 
tober  dawn.  The  crisp,  tingling  air  of  the  moun 
tains  brought  such  color  into  Mary's  face,  and  such 
buoyancy  into  her  spirits  that  Pink  watched  her  as 
he  would  have  watched  some  rare  kind  of  a  bird, 
skimming  along  beside  him.  He  had  never  known 
such  a  girl.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  coquetry 
in  her  attitude  towards  him.  She  didn't  glance  up 
with  pretty  appealing  side-glances  as  Sara  Downs 
did,  or  say  little  personal  things  which  naturally 
called  for  compliments  in  reply.  She  was  like  a  boy 
in  her  straightforward  plain  dealing  with  him,  her 


A   NEW  FRIEND  65 

joking  banter,  her  keen  interest  in  the  mountain 
life  and  her  knowledge  of  wood  lore.  One  never 
knew  which  way  her  quick-winged  thoughts  might 
dart.  As  they  rode  on  he  began  to  feel  as  if  he 
was  thoroughly  awake  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

Up  to  this  time  he  had  been  fairly  well  satisfied 
with  himself.  A  small  inheritance  safely  invested 
and  his  one  year  at  college  had  given  him  the  pres 
tige  of  a  person  of  both  wealth  and  education  in 
the  little  town  where  he  had  lived  until  recently. 
Yet  there  was  Jack,  who  had  not  even  finished  a 
High  School  course,  and  Mary,  who  had  had  less 
than  a  year  at  Warwick  Hall,  on  such  amazing 
terms  of  intimacy  with  a  world  outside  of  his  ken, 
that  he  felt  illiterate  and  untutored  beside  them. 
Even  Norman  seemed  to  have  a  wider  horizon  than 
himself,  and  he  wondered  what  made  the  difference. 

He  divined  the  reason  afterward  when  they  came 
back  from  their  ride  and  sat  at  breakfast  in  the 
sunny  dining-room.  It  was  Mrs.  Ware  who  had 
lifted  their  life  out  of  the  ordinary  by  the  force  of 
her  rare  personality.  Through  all  their  poverty  and 
trouble  and  hard  times  she  had  kept  fast  hold  on 
her  early  standards  of  refinement  and  culture,  and 
made  them  a  part  of  her  family's  daily  living. 

Pink  felt  the  difference,  even  in  the  breakfast. 


66  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

It  was  no  better  than  the  one  he  would  have  had 
at  home,  but  at  home  there  would  have  been  no 
interesting  conversation,  no  glowing  bit  of  color  in 
the  centre  of  the  table  like  this  bowl  of  autumn 
leaves  and  berries.  At  home  there  would  have  been 
no  attempt  at  any  pleasing  effect  in  the  dainty  serv 
ing  of  courses.  There  ham  was  ham  and  eggs  were 
eggs,  and  it  made  no  difference  how  they  were 
slapped  on  to  the  table,  so  long  as  they  were  well 
cooked.  There,  meal-time  was  merely  a  time  to 
satisfy  one's  appetite  as  quickly  as  possible  and 
hurry  away  from  the  table  as  soon  as  the  food  was 
devoured.  Here,  the  day  seemed  to  take  its  key 
note  from  the  illuminated  text  of  a  calendar  hang 
ing  beside  the  fireplace.  It  was  a  part  of  The  Sal 
utation  of  the  Dawn  from  the  Sanskrit : 

"  For  yesterday  is  but  a  dream, 
And  to-morrow  is  only  a  vision; 
But  to-day  well-lived,  makes 
Every  yesterday  a  dream  of  happiness 
And  every  to-morrow  a  vision  of  hope. 
Look  well,  therefore,  to  this  day! 

Such  is  the  Salutation  of  the  Dawn." 

The  Ware  breakfast-table  seemed  to  be  the  place 
where  they  all  gathered  to  get  a  good  start  for  the 
day.  It  was  Mrs.  Ware  who  gave  it,  and  gave  it 
unconsciously,  not  so  much  by  what  she  said  as 


A  NEW  FRIEND  67 

what  she  was.  One  felt  her  hopefulness,  her  seren 
ity  of  soul,  as  one  feels  the  cheer  of  a  warm  hearth 
stone. 

Pink  could  not  recall  one  word  she  had  said  to 
stimulate  his  ambition,  but  when  he  rode  away  on 
one  horse,  leading  the  other,  he  was  trying  to  ad 
just  himself  to  a  new  set  of  standards.  He  felt 
that  there  was  something  to  live  for  besides  taking 
in  dimes  over  the  counter  of  a  country  store.  One 
thing  happened  at  breakfast  which  made  him  glow 
with  pleasure  whenever  he  thought  of  it.  It  was 
the  quick  look  of  approval  which  Mary  flashed  him 
when  he  answered  one  of  her  sallies  by  a  quotation 
about  green  spectacles. 

"  Oh,  you  know  the  old  Vicar  too !  "  she  ex 
claimed,  as  if  claiming  mutual  acquaintance  with  a 
real  friend.  "  Don't  you  love  him  ?  " 

Pink  was  glad  that  some  interruption  spared  him 
the  necessity  of  an  enthusiastic  assent.  He  had 
not  been  specially  thrilled  by  the  book,  so  far  as  he 
had  read,  but  he  attacked  it  manfully  again  that 
night,  feeling  that  there  must  be  more  in  it  than 
he  had  wit  to  discover,  else  the  Wares  would  not 
have  adopted  it  as  "  guide,  philosopher  and  friend." 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    WITCH    WITH    A    WAND 

SNOW  lay  deep  over  Lone-Rock,  muffling  every 
sound.  It  was  so  still  in  the  cozy  room  where  Jack 
sat  reading  by  the  lamp,  that  several  times  he  found 
himself  listening  to  the  intense  silence,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  noise.  No  one  moved  in  the  house.  He  and 
Mary  were  alone  together,  and  she  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table  was  apparently  as  interested  in 
a  pile  of  letters  which  she  was  re-reading  as  he 
was  in  his  story.  But  presently,  when  he  finished 
it  and  tossed  the  magazine  aside,  he  saw  that  his 
usually  jolly  little  sister  was  sitting  in  a  disconso 
late  bunch  by  the  fire,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 

She  had  pushed  the  letters  from  her  lap,  and  the 
open  pages  lay  scattered  around  her  on  the  floor. 
There  were  five  of  them,  from  different  employ 
ment  agencies.  Jack  had  read  them  all  before  sup 
per,  just  as  he  had  been  reading  similar  ones  at 
intervals  for  the  last  two  months  and  a  half.  The 
answers  had  always  been  disappointing,  but  until 

68 


THE    WITCH   WITH  A    WAND  69 

to-day  they  had  come  singly  and  far  apart.  Un 
dismayed,  she  had  met  them  all  in  the  spirit  of  their 
family  motto,  insisting  that  fortune  would  be  com 
pelled  to  change  in  her  favor  soon.  She'd  be  so 
persistent  it  couldn't  help  itself. 

Five  disappointments,  however,  all  coming  by  the 
same  post,  were  more  than  she  could  meet  calmly. 
Besides,  these  were  the  five  positions  which  seemed 
the  most  promising.  The  thought  that  they  were 
the  last  on  her  list,  and  that  there  was  no  clue  now 
left  for  her  to  follow,  was  the  thought  that  weighed 
her  down  with  the  heaviest  discouragement  she 
had  ever  felt  in  all  her  life.  She  had  made  a  brave 
effort  not  to  show  it  when  Jack  came  home  to 
supper  earlier  in  the  evening.  The  two  ate  alone 

|  for  the  first  time  that  she  could  remember,  Mrs. 

1  Ware  and  Norman  having  been  invited  to  take  sup- 

•  per  with  the  Downs  family.  It  was  a  joint  birthday 
anniversary,  Billy  Downs  and  his  mother  happen- 

,  ing  to  claim  the  same  day  of  the  month,  though 

1  many  years  apart. 

Mary  talked  cheerfully  of  the  reports  Billy  had 
brought  of  the  two  cakes  that  were  to  adorn  the 

;  table,  one  with  fifteen  candles  for  him  and  the  boys, 
and  one  with  forty-eight  icing  roses  for  his  mother 
and  her  friends.  She  had  put  on  a  brave,  even  a 


70  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

jolly  front,  until  this  last  re-reading  of  her  letters. 
Now  she  had  given  away  to  such  a  sense  of  help 
lessness  and  defeat  that  it  showed  in  every  line  of 
the  little  figure  huddled  up  in  front  of  the  fire. 

Jack  noticed  it  as  he  tossed  aside  his  magazine 
and  sat  watching  her  a  moment.  Then  he  exclaimed 
sympathetically,  "  Cheer  up,  Mary.  Never  mind 
the  old  letters.  You'll  have  better  luck  next  time." 

There  was  no  answer.  A  profound  silence  fol 
lowed,  so  deep  that  he  could  hear  the  ticking  of  a 
clock  across  the  hall,  coming  faintly  through  closed 
doors. 

"  Cheer  up,  Sis !  "  he  exclaimed  again,  knowing 
that  if  he  could  only  start  her  to  talking  she  would 
soon  drag  herself  out  of  her  slough  of  despond. 

"  Don't  all  the  calendars  and  cards  nowadays  tell 
you  to  smile,  no  matter  what  happens?  Don't  you 
know  that 

" '  The  man  worth  while  is  the  man  who  can  smile 
When  everything  goes  dead  wrong?  '  " 

His  question  drew  the  retort  he  hoped  for,  and 
she  exclaimed  savagely,  "  I  hate  those  silly  old 
cheerfulness  calendars!  And  deliver  me  from  peo 
ple  who  follow  their  advice!  It's  just  as  foolish 
to  go  through  life  smiling  at  every  kind  of  circum 
stances  that  fate  hands  out  as  it  would  be  to  wear 


THE    WITCH    WITH  A   WAND  71 

furs  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  even  the  dog-days. 
What's  the  use  of  pretending  that  the  sun  is  shining 
when  everybody  can  see  that  the  rain's  simply 
drenching  you  and  that  you're  as  bedraggled  as  a 
wet  hen?" 

"  Well,  the  sun  is  shining,"  persisted  Jack.  "  Al 
ways,  somewhere.  Our  little  rain  clouds  don't  stop 
it.  All  they  can  do  is  to  hide  it  from  us  awhile." 

"  You  tell  that  to  old  Noah,"  grumbled  Mary, 
her  face  still  hidden  in  her  hands.  "  Much  good 
the  sun  behind  his  rain  clouds  did  him!  If  he 
hadn't  had  an  ark  he'd  have  been  washed  off  the 
face  of  the  earth  like  the  other  flood  sufferers. 
Seems  to  me  it's  sort  of  foolish  to  smile  when 
you've  been  swept  clean  down  and  out.  Five  turn- 
downs  in  one  day  —  " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  gave  the  scattered  let 
ters  an  impatient  push  with  her  foot.  Her  tone 
of  unusual  bitterness  stopped  Jack's  playful  attempt 
to  console  her.  He  sat  looking  into  the  fire  a  little 
space,  considering  what  to  say.  When  he  spoke 
again  it  was  in  a  firm,  quiet  tone,  almost  fatherly 
in  its  kindness. 

"  There's  no  reason,  Mary,  for  you  to  be  so  ut 
terly  miserable  over  your  disappointments.  There 
is  no  actual  need  for  you  to  go  out  into  the  world 


72  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

to  make  your  own  living  and  fight  your  own  way. 
It  was  different  when  I  was  a  helpless  cripple. 
Then  I  had  to  sit  by  and  watch  you  and  Joyce  and 
mother  struggle  to  keep  us  all  afloat.  But  I'm  able 
to  furnish  a  very  comfortable  little  ark  for  you  now, 
and  I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  stay  in  it  always.  I 
didn't  interfere  when  you  first  announced  your  in 
tention  of  starting  out  to  seek  your  fortune,  be 
cause  I  knew  you'd  never  be  satisfied  to  settle  down 
in  this  quiet  mining  camp  until  you'd  tried  some 
thing  different.  But  now  the  question  of  your  stay 
ing  here  seems  to  have  been  settled  for  you,  there's 
no  use  letting  the  disappointment  down  you  so  com 
pletely.  What's  your  big  brother  for  if  not  to  take 
care  of  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Jack !  You're  an  old  darling !  "  she  cried, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  It's  dear  of  you  to  put 
it  that  way,  and  I  do  appreciate  it  even  if  I  don't 
seem  to.  But  —  there's  something  inside  of  me 
that  just  won't  let  me  settle  down  to  be  taken  care 
of  by  my  family.  I  have  my  own  place  to  make  in 
the  world.  I  have  my  own  life  to  live !  " 

She  saw  his  amused,  indulgent  smile  and  cried 
out  indignantly,  "  Well,  you'd  scorn  a  boy  who'd 
be  satisfied  with  that  kind  of  life.  Just  because 
I'm  a  girl  is  no  reason  that  I  should  be  dependent 


THE    WITCH    WITH   A    WAND  73 

on  you  the  rest  of  my  days.  You  wouldn't  want 
Norman  to." 

"  No,"  admitted  Jack,  "  but  that  is  different.  I 
should  think  you  could  understand  how  a  fellow 
feels  about  his  little  sister  when  he's  the  head  of 
the  family.  He  regards  her  as  one  of  his  first 
responsibilities,  to  look  out  for  her  and  take  care 
of  her." 

Mary  straightened  up  in  her  chair  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  perplexed  expression,  saying  in  a  slow, 
puzzled  way,  "  Jack,  it  makes  me  almost  cross-eyed 
trying  to  see  your  way  and  my  way  at  the  same 
time.  Your  way  is  so  dear  and  sweet  and  generous 
that  I  feel  like  a  dog  to  say  a  word  against  it,  and 
yet  —  please  don't  get  mad  —  it  is  an  old-fashioned 
way.  Nowadays  girls  don't  want  to  be  kept  at 
home  on  a  shelf  like  a  piece  of  fragile  china.  When 
they're  well  and  strong  and  capable  of  taking  care 
of  themselves  they  want  a  chance  to  strike  out  and 
realize  their  ambitions  just  as  a  boy  would.  Joyce 
did  it,  and  look  what  she's  doing  for  herself  and 
how  happy  she  is." 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted.  "  Her  work  is  her  very 
life,  and  her  success  in  it  means  just  as  much  to 
her  as  mine  here  at  the  mines  does  to  me.  But  I 
can't  see  what  particular  ambition  you'd  be  reali- 


74  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

zing  in  filling  any  of  the  positions  you've  applied  for. 
You  couldn't  do  more  than  drudge  along  and  make 
a  bare  living  at  first.  There'd  be  very  little  time  and 
energy  left  for  ambitions." 

"  Well,  I'd  be  satisfying  one  of  them  at  any  rate," 
she  persisted.  "  I'd  be  at  least  '  paddling  my  own 
canoe '  and  making  a  place  for  myself  where  I'd 
be  really  needed.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  you're 
going  to  say,"  she  added  hurriedly,  as  he  tried  to 
interrupt  her.  "  Just  what  mamma  said,  that  you 
do  need  me  here  to  keep  things  stirred  up  and 
lively.  That  might  be  all  right  if  we  were  going 
to  live  along  this  way  always.  If  you'd  settle  down 
to  be  a  nice  comfortable  old  bachelor,  I  could  try 
to  be  an  ideal  old-fashioned  spinster  sister.  But 
you'll  be  getting  married  some  day,  and  then  I 
won't  be  needed  at  all,  and  it'll  be  too  late  for  me 
to  strike  out  then  and  be  a  modern,  up-to-date 
bachelor  maid  like  Miss  Henrietta  Robbins.  I 
know  that  Captain  Doane  says  that  old  maid  aunts 
are  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  she  added,  a  twinkle  in 
her  eyes  taking  the  place  of  the  tear  which  she 
hastily  dashed  away  with  the  back  of  her  hand, 
"  but  I  don't  want  to  be  one  in  somebody  else's 
home.  If  I  have  to  be  one  at  all  I  want  to  be  the 
Miss  Henrietta  kind.  But,"  she  admitted  honestly, 


THE   WITCH   WITH  A    WAND  75 

"  I'd  rather  marry  some  day,  after  I'd  done  all  the 
other  things  I've  planned  to,  and  no  Prince  Charm 
ing  will  ever  find  his  way  to  Lone-Rock.  You 
know  that  perfectly  well." 

Jack  threw  back  his  head  to  laugh  at  the  dolorous 
tone  of  her  confession,  and  then  grew  suddenly 
sober,  staring  into  the  fire,  as  if  her  remarks  had 
started  a  very  serious  train  of  thoughts.  The  snow- 
muffled  silence  was  so  deep  that  again  the  ticking 
of  the  distant  clock  sounded  through  closed 
doors. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  began  presently,  "  when  I  see 
the  way  you  chafe  at  the  loneliness  here,  and  hate 
the  monotony  and  long  so  desperately  to  get  away, 
I  wonder  if  any  girl  would  be  happy  here.  If  I 
would  have  a  right  even  to  ask  one  to  share  such 
a  life  with  me." 

Mary  gave  him  a  keen,  penetrating  glance,  her 
pulses  throbbing  at  this  beginning  of  a  confidence. 
,   She  hesitated  to  say  anything,  for  fear  her  reply 
!   might  stop  him,  but  when  he  seemed  waiting  for 
her  answer  she  said  with  a  worldly-wise  air,  "  That 
depends  on  the  girl.     If  it  were  Kitty  Walton  or 
i   Gay  or  Roberta,  they'd  be  simply  bored  to  death 
up  here.     They're  so  used  to  constant  entertain 
ment.    But  if  it  were  somebody  like  Betty,  it  would 


76  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

be  different.  Lone-Rock  isn't  any  lonesomer  than 
the  Cuckoo's  Nest  was,  and  she  loved  that  place. 
And  this  would  be  a  good  quiet  spot  where  she 
could  go  on  with  her  writing,  so  she  wouldn't  have 
to  give  up  her  ambition." 

Then,  feeling  that  perhaps  she  was  expatiating 
too  much  in  the  direction  of  Betty,  she  added 
hastily,  "  But  there's  one  thing  I  hadn't  thought 
of.  Of  course  that  would  make  it  all  right  for  any 
kind  of  a  girl,  even  for  a  Gay  or  a  Roberta.  You'd 
be  her  Prince  Charming,  so  of  course  you'd  '  live 
happily  ever  after.' ' 

Again  Jack  laughed  heartily,  lying  back  in  the 
big  Morris  chair.  Then  reaching  out  for  the  paper 
cutter  on  the  table,  he  began  toying  with  it  as  he 
often  did  when  he  talked.  But  this  time,  instead 
of  saying  anything,  he  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
slowly  drawing  the  ivory  blade  in  and  out  through 
his  closed  fingers. 

The  fore-log  burned  through,  suddenly  broke 
apart  between  the  andirons,  and  falling  into  a  bed 
of  glowing  coals  beneath,  sent  a  puff  of  ashes  out 
on  to  the  hearth.  Mary  leaned  forward  to  reach 
for  the  turkey-wing  hanging  beside  the  tongs. 
There  had  always  been  a  turkey-wing  beside  her 
Grandmother  Ware's  fireplace.  That  is  why  Mary 


"  '  I  WISH  WE  COULD  SETTLE  THINGS  BY  A  FEATHER,  AS 
THEY   USED  TO   IN   THE   OLD  FAIRY  TALES.'  ' 


THE   WITCH   WITH  'A   WAND  77 

insisted  on  using  one  now  instead  of  a  modern 
hearth-broom.  It  suggested  so  pleasantly  the  house 
wifely  thrift  and  cleanliness  of  an  earlier  generation 
which  she  loved  to  copy.  She  had  prepared  this 
wing  herself,  stretching  and  drying  it  under  a  heavy 
weight,  and  binding  the  quill  ends  into  a  handle 
with  a  piece  of  brown  ribbon. 

Now  as  she  flirted  it  briskly  across  the  hearth, 
a  tiny  fluff  of  down  detached  itself  from  one  of  the 
stiff  quills,  and  floated  to  the  rug.  When  she  picked 
it  up  it  clung  to  her  fingers,  and  only  after  repeated 
attempts  did  she  succeed  in  dislodging  it,  and  in 
blowing  it  into  the  fire. 

"  I  wish  we  could  settle  things  by  a  feather,  as 
they  used  to  in  the  old  fairy  tales,"  she  said  wist 
fully,  looking  after  the  bit  of  down.  "  Just  say: 

" '  Feather,  feather,  when  I  blow 
Point  the  way  that  I  should  go.' 

Then  there  would  be  no  endless  worry  and  waiting 
and  indecision.  It  would  be  up  to  the  feather  to 
settle  the  matter." 

"  Why  not  wish  for  your  '  witch  with  a  wand/ 
as  you  used  to  do?  "  asked  Jack.  "  There  used  to 
be  a  time  when  scarcely  a  day  passed  that  you  did 
not  make  that  wish." 

Mary's  answer  was  a  sudden  exclamation  and 


78  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

a  clasping  of   her  hands   together  as   she   turned 
towards  him,  her  face  radiant. 

"  Jack,  you've  given  me  an  idea !  Don't  you 
remember  that's  what  we  took  to  calling  Cousin 
Kate  after  she  gave  Joyce  that  trip  abroad,  and 
did  so  many  lovely  things  for  all  of  us  —  our  witch 
with  a  wand!  I've  a  notion  to  write  to  her  and 
ask  her  if  she  can't  help  me  get  a  position  of  some 
kind.  Didn't  she  endow  a  library  in  the  little  vil 
lage  where  she  was  born  ?  Seems  to  me  I  remember 
hearing  something  about  it  a  long  time  ago.  Maybe 
I  could  get  a  position  in  it." 

Jack  shook  his  head  decidedly.  "  No,  Mary,  I 
don't  like  your  idea  at  all.  She  did  endow  a  library, 
and  she's  interested  in  so  many  things  of  the  kind 
that  she  could  doubtless  pull  strings  in  all  direc 
tions.  But  mother  wouldn't  like  to  have  you  ask 
any  favors  of  her,  I'm  sure.  I  wouldn't  do  it  my 
self,  and  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  to,  after  all 
she's  done  for  us." 

"  But  I'd  not  be  asking  her  for  money  or  things,' 
declared  Mary.  "  I'd  only  ask  her  to  use  her  influ 
ence,  and  I  don't  see  why  she  wouldn't  be  as  will 
ing  to  do  it  for  her  own  '  blood  and  kin '  as  she 
would  for  working  girls  and  Rest  Cottage  people 
and  fresh-air  babies.  I'm  going  to  try  it  anyhow. 


THE    WITCH    WITH  A    WAND  79 

I'll  take  all  the  blame  myself.  I'll  tell  her  that 
mamma  doesn't  know  I'm  writing,  and  that  you 
told  me  not  to." 

"  But  she's  been  out  of  touch  with  us  for  so 
long,"  persisted  Jack,  frowning.  "  She  promised 
once,  that  if  Joyce  reached  a  certain  point  in  her 
work  she'd  give  her  a  term  or  two  in  Paris,  and 
Joyce  reached  it  a  year  ago.  Cousin  Kate  knows 
it,  for  she  was  at  the  studio  and  saw  for  herself 
what  Joyce  was  doing,  but  she  was  so  interested 
in  two  blind  children  that  she  had  taken  under  her 
wing,  that  she  couldn't  talk  of  anything  else.  She 
had  gone  down  to  New  York  to  consult  some  spe 
cialist  about  them,  and  she  was  considering  adopt 
ing  them.  She  told  Joyce  that  she  wouldn't  hesi 
tate,  only  she  had  made  such  inroads  on  her  capital 
to  keep  up  her  social  settlement  work,  that  there 
was  danger  of  her  ending  her  own  days  in  some 
kind  of  an  asylum  or  old  ladies'  home.  She  nearly 
lost  her  own  sight  several  years  ago.  That  is  why 
she  takes  such  an  especial  interest  in  those  two  chil 
dren." 

Mary  considered  his  news  in  silence  a  moment, 
then  remarked  stubbornly,  "  She  might  like  to  have 
me  come  on  and  help  take  care  of  the  blind  children. 
At  any  rate  it  will  cost  only  a  postage  stamp  to  find 


So  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

out,  and  I  can  afford  that  much  of  an  investment. 
I'll  write  now,  before  mamma  gets  back." 

Knowing  that  the  composition  of  such  a  letter 
would  be  a  long  and  painstaking  affair,  Mary  did 
not  risk  beginning  it  on  her  precious  monogram 
stationery.  She  brought  out  some  scraps  of  paper 
instead,  and  with  the  arm  of  her  chair  for  a  desk, 
scribbled  down  with  a  pencil  a  rough  draft  of  all  she 
wanted  to  say  to  this  Cousin  Kate,  who  had  been 
the  good  fairy  of  her  childhood.  Many  erasures 
and  changes  were  necessary,  and  it  was  nearly  an 
hour  later  when  she  read  it  all  over,  highly  pleased 
with  her  own  production.  She  wondered  how  it 
would  affect  Jack,  and  glanced  over  at  him,  so  sure 
of  its  excellence  that  she  was  tempted  to  read  it 
aloud.  But  Jack,  having  read  himself  drowsy,  had 
gone  to  sleep  in  his  chair,  and  she  knew  that  even 
if  she  should  waken  him  by  clashing  the  tongs  or 
upsetting  the  rocker,  he  would  not  be  in  a  mood 
to  appreciate  her  epistle  as  it  deserved. 

So  she  sat  jabbing  the  paper  with  her  pencil  till 
it  had  a  wide  border  of  dots  and  dashes,  while  she 
pictured  to  herself  the  probable  effect  of  the  lettei 
on  her  Cousin  Kate.  Hope  sprang  up  again  as 
buoyant  as  if  it  had  not  been  crushed  to  earth 
score  of  times  in  the  last  few  months,  and  she 


THE    WITCH   WITH  A    WAND  8l 

thought  exultingly,  "  Now  this  will  surely  bring  a 
satisfactory  reply !  " 

A  far-away  jingle  of  sleigh-bells  sounded  pres 
ently,  coming  nearer  and  nearer  down  the  snowy 
road,  then  stopped  in  front  of  the  house.  Mr. 
Downs  was  bringing  the  birthday  banqueters  home 
in  his  sleigh,  according  to  promise. 

Mary  sprang  up  to  open  the  door.  At  the  first 
faint  sound  of  the  bells  she  had  folded  the  sheet 
of  paper  into  a  tiny  square,  and  tucked  it  into 
her  belt.  She  had  a  feeling  that  Jack  was  wrong 
about  her  writing  to  Cousin  Kate,  and  that  her 
mother  would  not  disapprove  as  strongly  ias  he 
seemed  to  think  she  would,  if  the  matter  could  be 
put  properly  before  her.  But  she  intended  to  take 
no  risks.  There  would  be  time  enough  to  confess 
what  she  had  done  when  the  answer  came,  prom 
ising  her  the  coveted  position. 

Mrs.  Ware  and  Norman  came  in  glowing  from 
their  sleigh-ride. 

"  You  certainly  must  have  had  a  good  time," 
exclaimed  Mary,  noticing  the  unusual  animation 
of  her  mother's  face.  "  You  ought  to  go  to  a 
birthday  dinner  every  night  if  it  can  shake  you  up 
and  make  you  look  as  young  and  bright-eyed  as  you 
do  now." 


82  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  laughed  Mrs.  Ware,  as  Jack 
took  her  heavy  coat  from  her  and  Mary  her  furs. 
"  We  did  have  a  beautiful  time,  but  it  is  this  which 
has  gone  to  my  head." 

She  took  a  letter  from  the  muff  which  Mary  had 
just  laid  on  a  chair,  and  as  soon  as  she  could  slip 
off  her  gloves,  began  to  unfold  it  without  waiting 
to  lay  aside  her  hat. 

"  It's  a  letter  from  Joyce  which  that  naughty 
Norman  has  been  carrying  around  all  day.  He 
didn't  remember  to  give  it  to  me  until  he  was  put 
ting  on  his  overcoat  to  start  home,  and  discovered 
it  in  one  of  the  pockets.  I  just  had  to  open  it  while 
the  other  guests  were  making  their  adieus,  and  I've 
read  enough  to  set  me  all  in  a  whirl.  Joyce's  long 
dreamed  of  happiness  has  come  at  last!  She's  to 
go  to  Paris  in  a  few  weeks,  but  first  —  she's  coin 
ing  home  to  spend  Christmas  with  us! " 

Mrs.  Ware  paused  to  enjoy  the  effect  of  her 
announcement.  She  was  in  such  a  quiver  of  delight 
herself  that  Mary's  happy  cry  of  astonishment  and 
Jack's  excited  exclamation  did  not  do  justice  to  the 
occasion.  Only  long-legged  Norman's  demonstra 
tion  seemed  adequate.  Standing  on  his  head  he 
turned  one  somersault  after  another  across  the 
room,  till  he  landed  perilously  near  Mary,  who  gave 


THE   WITCH   WITH  A   WAND  83 

him  a  sharp  tweak  of  the  ear  as  he  came  up  in  a 
sitting  posture  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  you  wretch !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  To  keep 
such  news  in  your  pocket  all  day!  I'm  going  to 
tell  Captain  Doane  never  to  give  you  any  letters 
again,  if  you  can't  deliver  them  more  promptly  than 
that!" 

"  Sh !  "  she  added,  as  Norman  began  a  string  of 
excuses  for  his  forget  fulness.  "  Mamma  is  going 
to  read  it  aloud." 

"  BELOVED  FAMILY,"  the  letter  began.  "  Ere 
you  have  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  announce 
ment  I  am  about  to  make,  we  shall  be  dismantling 
the  studio,  packing  our  trunks  and  making  prep 
arations  to  shift  our  little  establishment  from  New 
York  to  Paris.  At  least,  Miss  Henrietta  and  I 
expect  to  go  to  Paris  and  carry  on  the  same  kind 
of  studio-apartment  housekeeping  that  we  have 
done  here.  Mrs.  Boyd  and  Lucy  have  gone  to 
Florida,  but  they  may  join  us  next  summer. 

"  But  first,  before  I  put  the  ocean  between  us, 
I'm  going  home  for  a  glimpse  of  you  all.  It  is  a 
long  journey  for  such  a  short  visit,  but  I  can't  go 
so  far  without  seeing  you  all  once  more,  just  at 
Christmas  time  too,  when  we've  been  separated  so 


84  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

many  Christmases.  It  is  Cousin  Kate  who  has 
made  all  this  possible.  She  did  not  adopt  those 
little  blind  children  after  all.  She  was  taken  with 
a  spell  of  typhoid  fever  while  she  was  trying  to 
make  up  her  mind,  and  has  never  been  well  enough 
since  to  consider  burdening  herself  in  such  a  way. 
She  sailed  yesterday  with  her  maid  for  the  south 
of  France,  by  the  doctor's  orders.  Later,  if  she  is 
better,  she  is  going  back  to  Tours,  where  she  and 
I  had  such  a  happy  year.  Old  Madame  Greville 
is  no  longer  living  in  the  villa  near  the  Gate  of  the 
Giant  Scissors,  but  Cousin  Kate  hopes  to  find  lodg 
ings  near  there.  She  has  just  spent  a  week  with 
us  while  she  was  making  preparations  for  her  jour 
ney,  and  the  visit  revived  all  her  old  interest  in  my 
work.  She  was  pleased  to  find  that  I  am  doing 
practical  money-making  things  like  designing  book- 
covers,  etc.,  but  she  wants  me  to  widen  my  field, 
she  says. 

"  She  insists  on  giving  me  this  year  abroad,  and 
says  it  is  pure  selfishness  on  her  part,  because  she 
may  want  to  attach  herself  to  our  Paris  establish 
ment  later  on.  She  is  so  alone  in  the  world.  I 
am  sure  that  I  can  make  it  up  to  her  some  day,  all 
that  she  is  doing  for  me  now,  in  the  way  that  will 
make  her  very  happy.  So  I  am  accepting  as  cor- 


THE    WITCH   WITH  A    WAND  85 

dially  as  she  is  giving.  When  I  told  her  how  long 
I  have  been  away  from  you  all,  and  that  I  thought 
I'd  take  part  of  my  savings  for  a  flying  visit  home, 
she  thought  I  ought  to  do  so  by  all  means,  and  said 
that  she  wanted  to  add  to  the  happiness  of  the  fam 
ily,  especially  mamma's,  by  sending  a  handsome 
Christmas  present  back  with  me. 

"  For  several  days  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  not 
be  able  to  get  exactly  what  she  wanted,  but  it  was 
finally  arranged,  just  at  the  last  moment,  after  much 
trouble  on  her  part.  It's  perfectly  grand,  but  I've 
sworn  not  to  even  hint  at  what  it  is.  So  expect 
me  Christmas  Eve  with  The  Surprise.  I'll  not 
write  again  in  the  meantime,  as  I  am  so  very,  very 
busy.  Till  then  good-bye. 

"  Yours  lovingly  and  joyfully, 

"  JOYCE." 

As  Mrs.  Ware  looked  up  from  her  reading, 
everybody  spoke  at  once.  "  It's  almost  too  good 
to  be  true,"  was  Jack's  quick  exclamation.  "  What 
do  you  suppose  the  surprise  will  be  ?  "  Norman's 
eager  question.  While  Mary,  clasping  her  elbow 
with  her  hands,  as  if  hugging  herself  in  sheer  ec 
stasy,  cried,  "  Oh,  I  just  love  to  be  knocked  flat 
and  have  my  breath  taken  away  with  unexpected 


86 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 


news  like  that!  It  makes  you  tingle  all  over  and 
at  the  same  time  have  a  queer  die-away  feeling 
too,  like  when  you  swoop  down  in  a  swing !  " 

Mrs.  Ware  took  down  the  almanac  hanging  in 
the  chimney  corner,  and  began  to  turn  the  pages, 
looking  for  the  one  marked  December. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  count  the  days  till  Christmas," 
said  Mary.  "  I've  been  marking  them  off  my  cal 
endar  every  morning  and  can  tell  you  to  a  dot.  Not 
that  I  had  expected  to  take  much  interest  in  cele 
brating  this  year,  but  just  from  force  of  habit,  I 
suppose.  But  now  we'll  have  to  '  put  the  big  pot 
in  the  little  one/  as  they  say  back  in  Kentucky,  in 
honor  of  our  being  all  together  once  more." 

"  All  but  Holland,"  corrected  Mrs.  Ware  sadly, 
with  the  wistful  look  which  always  came  into  her 
eyes  whenever  his  name  was  mentioned.  "  That's 
the  worst  of  giving  up  a  boy  to  the  Navy.  One 
has  to  give  him  up  so  completely." 

There  was  such  a  note  of  longing  in  her  voice 
that  Jack  hastened  to  say,  "  But  the  worst  of  it  is 
nearly  over  now,  little  mother.  He'll  be  home  on 
his  first  furlough  next  summer." 

'  Yes,  but  the  years  will  have  made  a  man  oi 
him,"  answered  Mrs.  Ware.  "  He'll  not  be  the 
same  boy  that  left  us,  and  he'll  be  here  such  a  short 


THE    WITCH    WITH  A   WAND  87 

time  that  we'll  hardly  have  time  to  make  his  ac 
quaintance." 

"  Oh,  but  think  of  when  he  gets  to  be  a  high  and 
mighty  Admiral,"  exclaimed  Mary,  comfortingly. 
"  You'll  be  so  proud  of  him  you'll  forget  all  about 
the  separation.  Between  him  and  the  Governor  I 
don't  know  what  will  happen  to  your  pride.  It 
will  be  so  inflated." 

Mary  had  laughingly  called  Jack  the  Governor 
ever  since  Mrs.  Ware's  complacent  remark  that  day 
on  the  train,  that  it  would  not  surprise  her  to  have 
such  an  honor  come  to  her  oldest  son  some  day. 

"  And  Joyce,  don't  forget  her"  put  in  Norman, 
feeling  in  his  pocket  for  a  handful  of  nuts  which 
he  had  carried  away  from  the  birthday  feast.  "  The 
way  she's  started  out  she'll  have  a  place  in  your 
hall  of  fame,  too.  And  me  —  don't  forget  this 
Abou  Ben  Adhem.  Probably  my  name'll  lead  all 
the  rest.  Where  do  you  expect  to  come  in,  Mary? 
What  will  you  do?" 

As  he  spoke  he  placed  a  row  of  pecans  under  the 
rocker  of  his  chair,  and  bore  down  on  them  until 
the  shells  cracked.  When  he  had  picked  out  a  hand 
ful  of  kernels,  he  popped  them  into  his  mouth  all 
at  once. 

"  We'll  write  your  name  as  the  Great  American 


88  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

Cormorant,"  laughed  Mary,  ignoring  his  question 
about  herself.  "  You  remember  that  verse,  don't 
you? 

" '  C,  my  dear,  is  the  Cormorant. 

When  he  don't  eat  more  it's  because  he  can't.' 

"  Mamma,  didn't  he  eat  anything  at  all  at  the 
Downs'?  He's  been  stuffing  ever  since  he  came 
back  —  cake  and  candy,  and  now  those  nuts.  It's 
positively  disgraceful  to  carry  food  away  in  your 
pockets  the  way  you  do,  Norman  Ware." 

"  I  always  do  when  I  go  to  Billy's  house,"  an 
swered  Norman,  undisturbed  by  her  criticism,  and 
crashing  his  rocker  down  on  a  row  of  almonds. 
"  And  Billy  always  does  the  same  here.  We're  not 
company.  We're  home  folks  at  both  places." 

The  shells  which  he  threw  toward  the  fire  missed 
their  aim  and  fell  on  the  hearth.  Mary  pointed 
significantly  toward  the  turkey-wing,  and  he  as 
significantly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  in  token  that 
he  would  not  sweep  up  the  mess  he  had  made. 
They  kept  up  a  playful  pantomime  some  time,  while 
Jack  and  his  mother  went  on  discussing  Joyce's 
home-coming,  before  he  finally  obeyed  her  peremp 
tory  gesture.  He  thought  she  was  in  one  of  her 
jolliest  moods,  induced  by  the  glorious  news  of 


THE    WITCH    WITH  A    WAND  89 

the  letter.  But  all  the  time  she  was  silently  repeat 
ing  his  question,  "  Where  do  you  expect  to  come  in, 
Mary  ?  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

Here  she  was,  baffled  again.  The  time  she  had 
spent  in  writing  that  letter,  now  tucked  away  under 
her  bdt,  was  wasted.  It  was  out  of  the  question 
to  appeal  to  Cousin  Kate  now,  just  when  she  had 
done  so  much  for  another  member  of  the  family, 
and  especially  when  she  had  sailed  away  to  so  vague 
a  place  as  the  south  of  France,  by  the  doctor's  or 
ders.  Even  if  Mary  had  her  address,  she  felt  it 
would  be  wrong  to  bother  her  with  a  request  which 
would  require  any  "  pulling  of  strings."  For  that 
could  not  be  done  without  letter  writing,  and  in 
her  state  of  health  even  that  might  be  some  tax 
on  her  strength,  which  she  had  no  right  to  ask. 
Hope,  that  had  soared  so  buoyantly  an  hour  before, 
once  more  sank  despairingly  to  earth.  What  was 
she  to  do?  Which  way  could  she  turn  next? 

When  bedtime  came  a  little  later,  Mrs.  Ware 
went  in  to  Norman's  room  to  take  some  extra  cover. 
Mary  lingered  to  pin  some  newspapers  around  her 
potted  plants  and  move  them  away  from  the  win 
dows.  Jack,  standing  in  front  of  the  fireplace, 
winding  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  saw  her  slip  a 
folded  paper  from  under  her  belt,  and  toss  it  into 


90  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

the  fire  with  such  a  tragic  gesture,  that  he  knew 
without  telling  that  it  was  the  letter  on  which  she 
had  worked  so  industriously.  She  saw  that  he 
understood  and  she  was  grateful  that  he  said  noth 
ing. 

While  they  were  undressing,  Mrs.  Ware  talked 
so  happily  of  Joyce's  return,  that  Mary's  own  glow 
of  anticipation  came  back.  She  was  not  jealous  of 
her  sister's  good  fortune.  She  had  never  been  that. 
She  was  wholly,  generously  glad  for  every  good 
thing  that  had  ever  come  into  Joyce's  life,  and  she 
was  so  thrilled  with  the  thought  of  her  coming 
home  that  she  was  sure  she  should  lie  awake  all 
night  thinking  about  it.  But  when  she  snuggled 
down  under  the  warm  covers,  it  was  Norman's 
question  which  kept  her  awake.  "  Where  do  you 
expect  to  come  in,  Mary?  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 


CHAPTER   V 

P    STANDS    FOR    PINK 

WHAT  happened  in  the  Christmas  holidays  which 
followed  is  best  told  in  the  letter  which  Mary  wrote 
to  Phil  Tremont  on  the  last  day  of  the  old  year. 

"  DEAR  BEST  MAN  :  "  it  began.  "  Mamma  has 
asked  me  to  write  to  you  this  time  in  her  place, 
as  she  has  succumbed  to  an  attack  of  '  reunionitis.' 
She  doesn't  call  it  that,  but  we  know  well  enough 
that  it  is  nothing  but  the  excitement  and  unexpect 
edness  of  having  a  whole  family  reunion  which  has 
frazzled  her  out  so  completely.  She  wrote  you 
that  Joyce  was  coming  home,  but  none  of  us  knew 
that  Holland  would  be  with  her.  He  was  the  sur 
prise  —  Cousin  Kate's  Christmas  gift  to  the  fam 
ily.  His  furlough  is  not  due  till  next  summer,  but 
she  said  by  that  time  Joyce  would  be  in  Paris,  and 
the  chances  are  that  if  we  didn't  get  together  now 
we  might  never  again  be  able  to ;  at  least  for  years 
and  years. 

91 


92  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

"  Cousin  Kate  is  such  a  solitary  soul  herself, 
no  relatives  nearer  than  cousins,  that  she  has  an 
immense  amount  of  sentiment  for  family  gather 
ings,  and  that  is  why  she  gave  us  such  a  happy  one. 
She  had  to  go  to  Washington  to  arrange  it.  She 
has  a  friend  at  court  in  the  shape  of  a  senator  who 
was  once  an  intimate  school  chum  of  the  Presi 
dent's.  (We  think  he  was  one  of  her  many  bygone 
suitors.  Isn't  that  romantic?)  Among  them  they 
managed  to  untie  enough  red  tape  to  let  Holland 
out. 

"  You  can  imagine  our  astonishment  when  he 
walked  in.  We  almost  swooned  with  joy,  and  I 
thought  for  a  moment  that  mamma  really  was  go 
ing  to,  the  surprise  was  so  great.  You  saw  him 
just  before  you  went  to  Mexico,  so  you  know  how 
big  he  has  grown,  and  how  impressively  dignified  he 
can  be  on  occasion.  And  polite  —  My !  What  a 
polish  the  Navy  can  give!  He  was  so  polite  that 
I  was  awestruck  at  first,  and  it  was  two  whole  days 
before  I  felt  familiar  enough  to  dare  to  refer  to 
the  time  that  he  dragged  me  down  the  hay-mow 
by  my  hair  because  I  wouldn't  come  any  other  way. 

"  It  has  been  a  wonderful  week ;  yet,  isn't  it 
queer,  as  I  look  back  on  it,  there  is  nothing  at  all 
in  it  really  worth  putting  into  a  letter.  It  is  just 


P  STANDS  FOR   PINK  93 

that  after  the  first  strangeness  wore  off,  we  seemed 
to  slip  back  into  the  dear  old  good  times  of  the 
Wigwam  days.  You  know  better  than  any  one 
else  in  the  world  what  they  were,  for  you  shared 
them  with  us  so  often.  You  know  how  we  have 
always  enjoyed  each  other  and  what  entertainment 
we  found  in  our  own  conversation  and  jokes  and 
disputes,  so  you'll  understand  exactly  what  that 
week  was  to  us,  when  I  say  that  it  was  a  slice  out 
of  the  old  days. 

"  It  was  better  in  some  ways,  however.  The 
future  is  not  such  a  distressingly  unknown  quantity 
as  it  was  then.  We  don't  have  to  say,  '  Let  X  (a 
very  slim  X  at  that)  equal  Jack's  chances,  and 
minus  Y  equal  Joyce's.'  If  we  could  only  determine 
the  value  of  the  chances  of  Mary,  we'd  soon  know 
the  '  length  of  the  whole  fish.'  'Member  how  you 
moiled  and  toiled  over  that  old  fish  problem  in 
Ray's  Algebra,  to  help  me  to  understand  it? 

"  Well,  I  am  the  puzzling  element  in  the  Ware 
family's  equation.  It's  our  problem  to  find  the 
extent  of  my  resources.  I  was  dreadfully  discour 
aged  before  Christmas,  when  every  application  I 
sent  out  was  turned  down.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
if  I  had  one  more  disappointment  I  couldn't  pos 
sibly  bear  it.  But  Joyce  has  almost  persuaded  me 


94  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

to  give  up  the  quest  for  awhile,  at  least  until  spring. 
I  am  a  year  younger  than  she  was  when  she  went 
away  from  home,  and  she  thinks  that  I  owe  it  to 
mamma  to  stay  with  her  till  I  am  out  of  my  teens. 
Mamma  hasn't  been  very  well  lately.  Sometimes 
I  think  I  could  have  a  very  pleasant  winter  here 
after  all,  if  I'd  just  make  up  my  mind  to  settle  down 
and  forget  my  ambitions.  There  are  mild  social 
possibilities  in  two  of  the  new  families  who  moved 
here  last  fall,  and  Pink  Upham  does  everything  he 
can  think  of  to  make  it  pleasant.  We  are  going 
skating  to-night,  and  have  a  big  bonfire  on  the  bank. 
To-morrow,  being  New  Year's  Day,  consequently  a 
holiday  for  him,  we  are  to  have  a  long  sleigh-ride 
over  to  Hemlock  Ridge.  The  ladies  of  some  lodge 
in  the  settlement  over  there  are  to  serve  a  turkey 
dinner  in  the  school-house. 

"  I  have  begun  this  letter  backwards.  What  I 
set  out  to  do,  first  and  foremost,  was  to  thank  you 
for  the  lovely  book  which  you  sent  with  your  Yule- 
tide  greeting.  I  read  over  half  of  it  aloud  last 
night  after  our  Christmas  guests  departed,  and  was 
glad  that  we  had  such  an  interesting  story.  It  kept 
us  from  getting  doleful. 

"  By  the  way,  the  heroine  is  called  Bonnie,  after 
the  song,  Bonnie  Eloise.  And  Joyce  said  that  Eu- 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  95 

genia  told  her  that  there  is  an  American  girl  visit 
ing  the  doctor's  family  near  your  construction 
camp,  whom  you  refer  to  in  your  letters  as  Bonnie 
Eloise.  Eugenia  says  that  she  plays  the  guitar  and 
sings  duets  with  you,  and  is  altogether  charming. 
Is  Eloise  her  real  name,  or  do  you  call  her  that 
because  she  is  bonny  like  the  girl  in  the  book  ?  And 
does  she  sing  as  well  as  Lloyd  Sherman?  Do  tell 
us  about  her  the  next  time  you  write!  Your  say 
ings  and  doings  would  interest  us  even  if  we  were 
looping  the  loop  socially  in  gay  Gotham  and  dwelt 
continually  '  in  the  midst  of  alarms.'  But  in  the 
Selkirkian  stillness  of  these  solitudes  our  interest 
in  our  friends  deepens  into  something  amazing. 

"  Mamma  says  to  tell  you  that  we  all  spoke  of 
you  and  quoted  you  many  times  this  week,  and 
wished  daily  that  you  were  with  us.  She  sends  her 
love  and  will  write  as  soon  as  she  is  able.  With 
all  good  wishes  for  your  New  Year  from  each  of 
us,  Yours,  downcast  but  still  inflexible, 

"  MARY." 

Phil  answered  this  letter  the  day  it  was  received, 
replying  to  her  question  about  Eloise  in  a  joking 
postscript,  as  if  wishing  to  convey  the  impression 
that  his  interest  in  her  was  less  than  Mary's. 


96  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

"  I  forgot  to  say  that  Eloise  is  a  name  I  have 
bestowed  upon  the  young  lady  who  is  visiting  the 
Whites,  in  exchange  for  the  compliment  of  her 
having  given  my  name  to  her  dog.  He  is  a  lank, 
sneaking  greyhound  which  never  leaves  her  side, 
and  was  called  merely  Senor,  when  she  brought  him 
to  Mexico.  Now  she  has  added  Tremonti  to  his 
title.  She  herself  is  baptized  Eliza.  She  is  a  pretty, 
kittenish  little  thing,  deathly  afraid  of  cock-roaches 
and  caterpillars,  devoted  to  frills  and  fetching  fur 
belows,  and  fond  of  taking  picturesque  poses  in  the 
moonlight  with  the  slinky  greyhound.  No,  her 
voice  is  not  to  be  compared  to  the  Little  Colonel's, 
but  it  is  sweet  and  sympathetic,  very  effective  in 
ballads  and  simple  things.  We  sing  together  when 
ever  I  happen  to  drop  in  at  the  doctor's,  which  is 
several  times  a  week,  and  I  am  indebted  to  her  for 
many  pleasant  hours,  which  are  doubly  appreciated 
in  this  desert  waste  of  a  place. 

"  Now  will  you  answer  a  few  questions  for  me? 
Who  is  this  Pink  Upham  who  is  '  doing  everything 
to  make  the  winter  pleasant '  for  you  ?  What  is 
his  age,  his  business  and  his  ultimate  aim  in  life? 
Is  he  the  only  available  escort  to  all  the  social  func 
tions  of  Lone-Rock  ?  You  never  mention  any  other. 
Don't  forget  what  I  told  you  when  I  said  good- 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  97 

bye  in  Bauer,  and  don't  forget  what  you  promised 
me  then." 

Mary  was  in  the  kitchen  when  that  letter  was 
brought  in  to  her.  She  had  just  slipped  a  pan  of 
gingersnaps  into  the  oven,  and  was  rolling  out  the 
remainder  of  the  dough  to  fill  another  pan.  Not 
even  stopping  to  wipe  her  floury  hands,  she  walked 
over  to  the  window,  tore  open  the  envelope  and 
began  to  read.  When  she  came  to  the  end  of  the 
postscript  she  stood  gazing  out  of  the  window  at 
the  back  fence,  half  buried  in  the  drifted  snow. 
What  she  saw  was  not  the  old  fence,  however. 
She  was  gazing  back  into  a  sunny  April  morning 
in  the  hills  of  Texas.  She  was  standing  by  a 
kitchen  window  there,  also,  but  that  one  was  open, 
and  looked  out  upon  a  meadow  of  blue-bonnets,  as 
blue  as  the  sea.  And  outside,  looking  in  at  her, 
with  his  arms  crossed  on  the  window-sill,  was  Phil. 
There  was  no  need  for  him  to  write  in  that  post 
script,  "  Don't  forget  what  I  told  you  when  I 
said  good-bye  in  Bauer."  She  had  recalled  it 
so  many  times  in  the  nine  months  that  had 
passed  since  then,  that  she  could  repeat  every 
word. 

It  still  seemed  just  as  remarkable  now  as  it  had 


98  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

then  that  ha  should  have  asked  her  to  promise  to 
let  him  know  if  anybody  ever  came  along  trying 
to  persuade  her  "  to  join  him  on  a  new  trail,"  or 
that  he  should  have  said  that  he  wanted  "  a  hand 
in  choosing  the  right  man,"  and  above  all  that  he 
should  have  added  solemnly,  "  I  have  never  yet 
seen  anybody  whom  I  considered  good  enough  for 
little  Mary  Ware." 

If  Mary  could  have  known  what  picture  rose  up 
before  Phil's  eyes  as  he  wrote  that  postscript,  she 
would  have  been  unspeakably  happy.  She  had  so 
many  mortifying  remembrances  of  times  when  he 
had  caught  her  looking  her  very  worst,  when  he 
had  come  upon  her  just  emerging  from  some  acci 
dent  that  had  left  her  drenched  or  smoked  or  be 
draggled,  mud-spattered,  ink-stained  or  dust-cov 
ered.  Holland's  recent  reminiscences  had  deepened 
her  impression  that  she  must  have  been  in  a  wrecked 
condition  half  her  time,  for  he  had  kept  the  family 
laughing  all  one  evening,  recalling  various  plights 
he  had  rescued  her  from. 

It  would  have  been  most  soul-satisfying  to  her 
could  she  have  known  that  Phil  thought  of  her 
oftenest  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  standing  at  the 
gate  in  a  white  and  pink  dress,  fresh  as  a  spring 
blossom,  her  sweet  sincere  eyes  looking  gravely 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  99 

into  his  as  he  insisted  on  a  promise,  but  her  dear 
little  mouth  smiling  mischievously  as  she  vowed, 
"  I'll  keep  my  word.  Honest,  I  will !  " 

As  she  recalled  that  promise  now,  her  face  dim 
pled  again  as  it  had  then  over  the  absurdity  of 
such  a  thing.  "  The  idea  of  Phil's  thinking  that 
Pink  Upham  is  anybody  to  be  considered  seri 
ously!  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  recalled  his  uncouth 
laugh,  his  barbaric  taste  in  dress,  his  provincial 
little  habits  and  mannerisms,  which  in  the  parlance 
of  the  Warwick  Hall  girls,  would  have  stamped 
him  "  dead  common  "  according  to  their  standards. 
She  was  still  looking  dreamily  out  into  the  snowy 
yard  when  Mrs.  Ware  came  to  the  door  to  inquire 
with  an  anxious  sniff, 

"Mary,  isn't  something  burning?" 

Suddenly  recalled  to  herself,  Mary  sprang  to 
open  the  oven  door,  wailing,  "  My  cookies,  oh,  my 
cookies !  Burnt  to  a  crisp !  And  the  gingerbread 
man  I  promised  to  little  Don  Moredock,  black  as 
a  cinder!  I'll  have  to  make  him  another  one,  but 
there  won't  be  time  to  stick  in  all  the  beautiful 
clove  buttons  that  I  had  this  one's  suit  trimmed 
with.  His  coat  was  like  Old  Grimes',  *  all  buttoned 
down  before.'  It  was  Phil's  letter  that  caused  the 
wreck,"  she  explained  to  her  mother,  as  she  emp- 


100  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

tied  the  burnt  cakes  into  the  fire.  "  There  it  is  on 
the  table." 

Phil's  letters  were  family  property.  Mrs.  Ware 
carried  it  off  to  read,  and  Mary,  taking  another 
pan,  proceeded  to  shape  another  gingerbread  man. 
As  she  did  so,  her  thoughts  went  from  it  to  little 
Don  Moredock  for  whom  it  was  intended,  and  then 
to  Pink  Upham,  who  had  been  the  devoted  slave 
of  the  little  fellow  with  the  broken  leg  ever  since 
the  accident  occurred.  As  she  recalled  Pink's  pa 
tience  and  gentleness  with  the  child,  she  wondered 
just  what  sort  of  an  impression  he  would  make  on 
Phil.  The  more  she  pondered  the  more  certain  she 
was  that  Phil  would  see  him  through  Jack's  eyes 
and  little  Don's,  rather  than  through  hers.  And 
somehow,  thinking  that,  she  began  to  get  a  differ 
ent  view  of  him  herself. 

It  was  nearly  sundown  before  she  found  time  to 
run  over  to  the  Moredocks'  with  the  gingerbread 
man,  and  tell  Don  the  story  which  it  was  intended 
to  illustrate.  He.  had  never  heard  it  before,  and 
insisted  upon  her  repeating  it  over  and  over.  He 
kept  her  much  later  than  she  had  intended  to  stay, 
and  a  young  moon  was  shining  on  the  snow  when 
she  started  home  again.  Pink  Upham,  stopping  on 
his  way  home  to  supper  to  leave  a  feather  whirli- 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  IOI 

gig  he  had  made  for  Don,  met  her  going  out  of 
the  gate  as  he  went  in. 

Two  minutes  later  he  had  caught  up  with  her, 
and  was  walking  along  beside  her.  There  was  to 
be  a  Valentine  party  at  Sara  Downs  on  the  four 
teenth,  he  told  her.  A  fancy  dress  affair.  He 
wanted  her  to  go  with  him,  as  his  valentine.  Now 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Phil's  letter,  Mary's  eyes 
might  not  have  been  opened  quite  so  soon  to  the 
fact  that  Pink  regarded  her  as  the  right  girl,  no 
matter  what  she  thought  of  him.  But  all  at  once 
she  realized  that  he  was  looking  down  at  her  as 
no  one  had  ever  looked  before.  There  was  some 
thing  in  his  glance  like  the  dumb  wistfulness  that 
makes  a  hunting  dog's  eyes  so  pathetic,  and  she 
felt  a  little  shiver  run  over  her.  She  didn't  want 
him  to  care  like  that!  It  was  perfectly  thrilling  to 
feel  that  she  had  aroused  a  deep  regard  in  any  one's 
heart,  but,  oh,  why  did  it  have  to  be  some  one  who 
fell  so  short  of  her  standard  of  what  a  true  prince 
must  measure  up  to? 

Embarrassed  and  troubled,  she  hurried  away 
from  him  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  gate.  The 
lamps  were  lighted  and  supper  was  ready  when  she 
went  into  the  house.  She  began  talking  the  mo 
ment  she  sat  down  at  the  table,  but  somehow  she 


102  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

could  not  put  Pink  out  of  her  mind.  She  kept 
seeing  him  as  he  had  stood  there  at  the  gate  in  the 
snow  with  the  young  moon  lighting  it  up.  She 
knew  that  he  had  stood  and  watched  her  pass  up 
the  path  and  into  the  house,  for  she  had  stolen  a 
hasty  glance  over  her  shoulder  as  she  opened  the 
door,  and  the  tall,  dark  figure  was  still  there. 

She  talked  vivaciously  of  many  things:  of  little 
Don's  pleasure  in  her  gift,  of  her  fall  on  the  ice 
on  the  way  over,  of  Sara  Downs'  Valentine  party, 
of  Phil's  letter.  When  the  last  subject  was  men 
tioned  Mrs.  Ware  remarked,  "  That  snap-shot  of 
'  Eloise '  shows  her  to  be  a  very  pretty  girl,  I  think." 

"  Snap-shot  of  Eloise !  "  echoed  Mary  blankly. 
"  I  didn't  see  it.  Where  is  it?" 

"  In  the  envelope.  I  didn't  see  it  either,  until  I 
started  to  shove  the  folded  sheet  back  into  it. 
Something  inside  prevented  its  going  more  than 
half  way,  and  I  found  it  was  the  little  unmounted 
picture  curled  up  inside.  It's  on  the  mantel.  Nor 
man,  get  it  for  your  sister,  please." 

Mary  held  the  picture  under  the  lamp  for  a  care 
ful  scrutiny.  So  that  was  Eloise.  A  slim,  graceful 
girl  posing  in  a  hammock,  with  one  hand  resting 
on  the  guitar  in  her  lap,  the  other  on  the  head  of 
Senor  Tremonti.  Her  face  was  in  shadow,  but  she 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  103 

looked  dangerously  attractive  to  Mary,  who  spoke 
her  opinion  openly. 

"  She's  an  appealing  little  thing,  the  clinging- 
vine  sort.  If  Phil  saw  her  only  in  the  daylight  and 
called  her  plain  Eliza,  and  could  remember  that 
she's  a  little  'fraid  cat  whose  chief  interest  in  life 
is  frills  and  fetching  furbelows,  he  wouldn't  be  in 
any  danger.  But  you  see,  he  hasn't  any  of  his  kind 
of  girls  down  there  —  I  mean  like  the  Little  Colo 
nel  and  Betty  and  Gay,  and  the  moonlight  and  mu 
sical  evenings  will  give  her  a  sort  of  glamor  that'll 
make  her  seem  different,  just  as  calling  her  Eloise 
makes  her  seem  more  romantic  than  when  he  says 
Eliza." 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  laughed  Jack.  "  Phil  is  old 
enough  to  look  out  for  himself,  and  to  know  what 
he  wants.  You  can  trust  him  to  pick  out  the  kind 
of  wife  that  suits  him,  better  than  you  could  do 
it  for  him." 

"  But  I  don't  want  him  to  be  satisfied  with  that 
kind  after  all  the  lovely  girls  he's  known,"  grum 
bled  Mary,  putting  the  picture  aside  and  going  on 
with  her  supper.  Her  motherly  concern  was  even 
greater  over  this  situation  than  it  had  been  when 
she  thought  of  him  as  "  doomed  to  carry  a  secret 
sorrow  to  his  grave."  She  pinned  the  picture  of 


104  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

Eloise  to  the  frame  of  her  mirror  when  she  went 
to  her  room  that  night,  and  studied  it  while  she 
slowly  brushed  her  hair. 

Once  she  paused  with  brush  in  air  as  a  comfort 
ing  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  her.  "  Why,  I'm 
in  the  same  position  that  Phil  is.  Pink  doesn't 
measure  up  to  my  highest  ideal  of  a  man  any  more 
than  Eliza  measures  up  to  Lloyd,  but  he's  my  chief 
source  of  amusement  here,  just  as  she  is  Phil's 
there.  Maybe  she  lets  him  see  that  she's  fond  of 
his  company  and  all  that,  and  he  hates  to  hurt  her 
feelings  as  I  hate  to  hurt  Pink's.  I'll  intimate  as 
much  in  my  letter  when  I  answer  his  questions, 
if  I  can  think  of  the  right  way  to  do  it." 

It  was  because  she  could  not  find  the  right  words 
to  express  these  sentiments  that  she  delayed  an 
swering  from  day  to  day,  then  other  things  crowded 
it  out  of  her  mind.  The  Valentine  party  required 
that  much  time  and  thought  be  spent  on  the  cos 
tumes,  and  she  helped  Jack  with  his.  He  went  as 
a  comic  Valentine.  Pink  begged  her  to  dress  as 
the  Queen  of  Hearts,  and  she  was  almost  persuaded 
to  do  so,  thinking  that  would  be  the  easiest  of  cos 
tumes  to  prepare,  till  she  guessed  from  something 
he  let  fall  that  he  intended  to  personate  the  King 
himself.  Then  nothing  would  have  induced  her  to 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  105 

do  it.  She  knew  it  would  give  occasion  for  the 
coupling  of  their  names  together  in  the  familiar 
and  teasing  way  they  have  in  little  country  towns. 

So  she  dressed  as  an  old-fashioned  lace-paper 
valentine.  The  dress  was  made  of  a  much-mended 
lace  curtain.  The  front  of  the  bodice  had  two 
square  lapels  wired  at  the  edges,  so  that  they  could 
be  folded  together  like  the  front  of  a  real  valentine, 
or  opened  back  like  shutters  to  show  on  her  breast 
a  panel  of  pale  blue  satin,  on  which  was  outlined 
two  white  doves  perched  above  a  great  red  heart. 
Mrs.  Ware  painted  it,  and  although  it  may  sound 
queer  in  the  description,  it  was  in  reality  a  very 
pretty  costume,  and  the  touch  of  color  made  it  so 
becoming  that  Mary's  cheeks  glowed  with  pleas 
ure  many  times  during  the  evening  at  the  com 
ments  she  overheard  on  all  sides. 

Pink's  eyes  followed  her  admiringly  everywhere 
she  went,  but  he  had  little  to  say  to  her,  except 
once,  as  he  finished  singing  a  song  which  Sara 
Downs  had  begged  for,  he  leaned  over  and  whis 
pered  significantly,  "  That's  your  song." 

It  was  Kathleen  Mavourneen,  and  she  wondered 
why  he  called  it  hers.  On  the  way  home  he  was 
so  strangely  silent  that  Mary  wondered  what  was 
the  matter.  She  rattled  along,  talking  with  even 


106  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

more  vivacity  than  usual,  to  cover  his  silence,  and 
walked  fast  to  keep  within  speaking  distance  of 
several  others  who  were  going  down  their  road. 
They  all  walked  Indian  file,  the  path  beaten  through 
the  snow  was  so  narrow.  Jack  had  started  much 
earlier,  as  he  was  taking  old  Captain  Doane's  niece 
home.  The  cottage  was  in  sight  when  the  others 
turned  off  into  another  road,  and  Pink  and  Mary 
were  left  crunching  through  the  snow  alone. 

Then  Pink  suddenly  found  his  voice.  Clearing 
his  throat  he  began  diffidently,  "  Mary,  I  want  to 
ask  you  something.  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

His  tone  was  so  ominous  that  Mary's  heart  gave 
a  thump  like  a  startled  rabbit's. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  '  Pink  '  like  every 
body  else  does.  I  wish  you'd  call  me  a  name  that 
no  one  would  use  but  you.  Just  when  we're  by 
ourselves,  you  know.  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  any 
other  time.  I'd  love  for  you  to  have  your  own 
special  name  for  me  just  as  I  have  for  you." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Mary,  crunching  steadily 
on  ahead,  determined  to  laugh  him  out  of  his  seri 
ous  tone  if  possible.  "  What  name  do  you  have 
for  me  ?  '  Polly-put-the-kettle-on  ?  '  That's  my 
usual  nickname.  It  used  to  be  '  M other-bunch  '  and 
'  Gordo '  when  I  was  little  and  fat." 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  107 

"  I  didn't  mean  a  nickname,"  answered  Pink  a 
little  stiffly.  He  was  in  no  humor  for  joking,  and 
he  rather  resented  her  light  reply.  Her  rapid  pace 
had  quickened  almost  into  a  dog-trot.  With  a  few 
long  strides  he  put  himself  even  with  her,  walking 
along  in  the  deep  snow  beside  the  narrow  path. 
Evidently  he  felt  the  witchery  of  the  still  winter 
night,  with  the  moonlight  silvering  the  snowy  world 
around  them,  even  if  Mary  did  not.  For  in  spite 
of  the  brisk,  business-like  pace  she  set,  he  said  pres 
ently  : 

"  I've  been  making  up  my  mind  all  evening  to 
tell  you  this  on  my  way  home.  You've  never 
seemed  like  an  ordinary  girl  to  me.  You're  so 
much  nicer  in  every  way,  that  long  ago  I  gave  you 
a  name  that  I  always  call  you  to  myself.  And  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  wouldn't  do  the  same  for 
me.  Of  course  I  couldn't  expect  you  to  give  me  the 
same  sort  of  a  name  that  I  have  for  you,  but  I'd 
be  content  if  you'd  just  call  me  by  my  first  name, 
Philip." 

"Philip!"  repeated  Mary  blankly,  turning  short 
in  the  narrow  path  to  stare  at  him.  "  Why,  I 
didn't  know  that  that  was  your  name.  It's  a  name 
that  has  always  seemed  to  belong  especially  to  just 
one  person  in  the  world.  I  never  dreamed  that  it 


108  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

was  your  name.  Somehow  I  had  the  impression 
that  that  first  P  in  it  stood  for  Peter." 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  answered  Pink  in  a  hurt 
tone.  "  I  was  named  for  my  grandfather,  Philip 
Pinckney,  so  I  don't  see  why  I  haven't  as  good  a 
right  to  it  as  any  one." 

"  Oh,  of  course  you  have,"  cried  Mary.  "  I  was 
just  surprised,  that's  all.  It's  only  that  I've  always 
regarded  it  as  the  especial  property  of  one  of  my 
very  best  friends,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  I  rather  hoped  that  you  counted  me  as 
one  of  your  very  best  friends,"  was  the  gloomy 
response.  To  Mary's  unspeakable  relief  Jack  came 
swinging  up  behind  them  just  then  with  some  jolly 
remark  that  saved  her  the  necessity  of  an  answer, 
and  the  good  nights  were  spoken  without  any  fur 
ther  reference  to  personal  matters. 

It  was  so  late  that  she  undressed  as  quickly  and 
quietly  as  she  could,  in  order  not  to  awaken  her 
mother  in  the  next  room.  As  she  did  so  she  kept 
thinking,  "  I  wonder  what  it  is  he  always  calls  me 
to  himself?  I'd  give  a  fortune  to  know.  But  I 
suppose  I  never  will  find  out,  for  I'm  sure  that  I 
hurt  his  feelings  saying  what  I  did  about  Phil's 
name.  Why,  I  could  no  more  call  him  Philip  than 
I  could  call  him  mother!  Those  names  belong  so 


P  STANDS  FOR  PINK  109 

entirely  to  the  people  I've  always  given  them 
to." 

It  was  not  until  she  had  been  tucked  warmly  in 
bed  for  some  time,  with  her  eyes  closed,  that  she 
thought  of  something  which  made  her  sit  bolt  up 
right,  regardless  of  the  icy  wind  blowing  in  through 
her  open  windows. 

"  Philip  and  Mary  on  a  shilling!  Merciful  heav 
ens  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  whisper.  "  It  can't  be  that 
that  old  shilling  that  I  drew  out  of  Eugenia's  bride 
cake  really  has  any  power  to  influence  my  destiny !  " 

There  was  something  vaguely  alarming  in  the 
knowledge  that  Pink  claimed  the  name  of  Philip. 
Long  ago  Mary  had  taken  the  story  of  The  Three 
Weavers  to  heart,  and  vowed  that  no  one  could  be 
her  prince  who  did  not  fit  her  ideals  "  as  the  fal 
con's  feathers  fit  the  falcon."  Now  she  exclaimed 
almost  savagely  to  herself : 

"  Why,  Pink  Upham  no  more  measures  up  to 
my  ideals  than,  than  —  anything!  It's  ridiculous 
to  believe  that  an  old  shilling  could  influence  my 
destiny  that  way.  It  can't!  It  sha'n't!  I  simply 
won't  let  it !  " 

Then,  as  she  lay  back  on  her  pillow  again  and 
pulled  the  blankets  over  her  shivering  shoulders, 
she  thought  drearily,  "  But,  oh,  dear,  this  is  going 


no 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 


to  interfere  with  my  only  good  times!  Whenever 
he  is  nice  to  me  I'll  think  of  that  dreadful  old  shil 
ling  in  spite  of  myself.  I  wish  I  could  go  away 
from  Loner  Rock  this  very  week !  " 


CHAPTER   VI 

TOLD   IN    LETTERS 

ON  the  way  to  the  post-office  next  morning, 
Mary  determined  that  if  she  should  meet  Pink  there, 
as  she  sometimes  did,  not  even  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash  should  show  that  she  remembered  last 
night's  conversation.  But  when  she  saw  the  back 
of  a  familiar  fur  overcoat  through  the  post-office 
window,  she  felt  the  color  rush  into  her  face. 

When  she  went  in,  not  only  was  she  conscious 
from  his  greeting  that  he  remembered,  but  the  look 
in  his  eyes  said  as  plainly  as  words  that  the  name 
which  he  kept  for  her  alone  had  risen  almost  to 
his  lips.  It  made  her  uncomfortable,  but  she  was 
burning  with  curiosity  to  know  what  that  name 
could  be. 

There  were  several  people  in  the  line  ahead  of 
her,  and  Pink  emptied  his  locked  box  before  her 
turn  came  at  the  window.  She  knew  that  he  was 
waiting  outside  the  door  for  her,  so,  when  she 

passed  him,  she  was  purposely  absorbed  in  opening 

111 


112  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

the  only  letter  which  had  fallen  to  her  share.  It 
was  a  tough-fibred  envelope,  hard  to  tear,  and  her 
heavily  gloved  hands  made  clumsy  work  of  it. 
Finally  she  thrust  a  forefinger  under  the  flap  and 
wrenched  it  apart.  A  ragged  scrap  of  yellowed 
paper  fluttered  out  on  to  the  step.  Pink  stooped 
and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Why,  how  queer !  That's  all  there  is  in  the 
envelope,"  she  exclaimed,  shaking  it,  then  holding 
out  the  jagged  bit  of  paper  so  that  Pink  could  ex 
amine  it  with  her.  It  was  only  a  scrap  torn  from 
a  sheet  of  music,  or  some  old  song-book.  They 
read  the  bars  together : 


f* 

; 


Oh !  why     art  them    si  -  lent    thou  voice  of     my  heart  ? 

If  Mary  had  not  been  so  busy  puzzling  over  why 
it  had  been  sent,  she  would  have  seen  a  dull  red 
creep  into  Pink's  face,  as  he  recognized  it  as  a  line 
from  Kathleen  Mavourneen,  the  song  which  he  told 
Mary  the  night  before  he  always  regarded  as 
hers. 

Suddenly  she  laughed.  "  Of  course !  I  see  it 
now!  It's  just  Phil's  cute  way  of  reminding  me 
that  I  owe  him  a  letter.  Once,  when  Jack  had  not 


TOLD  IN  LETTERS  113 

written  for  months,  Phil  called  his  attention  to  the 
silence  by  sending  a  postal  with  just  a  big  question 
mark  on  it.  But  this  is  a  much  brighter  way." 

"  Yes,  I  see  a  few  things  too,"  said  Pink  stiffly. 
"  I'd  forgotten  that  that  fellow  down  in  Mexico 
is  named  Philip.  So  he's  the  only  person  in  the 
world  you  consider  the  name  belongs  to  —  and  he 
calls  you  —  that!" 

His  finger  pointed  to  the  last  five  words  under 
the  bar  of  music. 

"  He's  the  only  one  I've  ever  known  by  that 
name,"  began  Mary,  surprised  by  the  unaccountable 
change  in  his  manner,  and  unaware  that  it  was  a 
swift  flash  of  jealousy  which  caused  it.  To  her 
amazement  he  turned  abruptly  and  walked  away 
without  even  a  curt  "  good  morning." 

She  glanced  after  him  in  surprise,  wondering  at 
his  abrupt  leave-taking.  He  was  unmistakably  of 
fended  about  something.  Sara  Downs  had  told 
her  more  than  once  that  he  was  the  most  foolishly 
sensitive  person  she  had  ever  known,  continually 
getting  his  feelings  hurt  over  nothing,  but  this  was 
the  first  time  Mary  had  ever  had  an  exhibition  of 
his  sensitiveness.  Conscious  that  she  had  done 
nothing  at  which  a  reasonable  person  could  take 
offence,  she  looked  after  him  with  a  desire  to  shake 


114          MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

him  for  such  childishness.  Then  with  a  shrug  of 
her  shoulders  she  turned  and  started  homeward. 

"  That  was  such  a  bright,  original  way  for  Phil 
to  remind  me,"  she  thought,  glancing  again  at  the 
scrap  of  music.  "  And  it  is  so  absolutely  silly  of 
Pink  to  say  in  such  a  tragic  tone,  '  And  he  called 
you  that! '  There  is  nothing  more  personal  in 
Phil's  saying  '  thou  voice  of  my  heart '  than  there 
would  be  in  his  calling  me  '  Old  Dog  Tray '  or  a 
scrap  of  any  other  song.  He's  always  roaring 
questions  at  people  in  the  shape  of  bits  of  music. 
But,  of  course,  Pink  doesn't  know  that,"  she  added 
a  moment  afterward,  wanting  to  be  perfectly  hon 
est  in  her  judgment  of  him.  "  But  even  if  he 
doesn't,  it's  none  of  his  business  what  anybody  calls 
me." 

The  episode,  trifling  as  it  was,  made  a  difference 
in  the  answer  that  she  sent  to  Phil.  Instead  of  try 
ing  to  reply  to  his  questions  seriously,  as  she  had 
intended  to  do,  she  was  so  disdainful  of  Pink's  be 
havior  that  she  concluded  to  ignore  all  mention  of 
him.  As  she  passed  the  Moredock  house,  a  phono 
graph,  playing  away  inside  for  the  amusement  of 
little  Don,  brayed  out  a  rag-time  refrain :  "  I  want 
what  I  want,  when  I  want  it!  " 

Suddenly  the  inspiration   seized   her  to  answer 


TOLD  IN  LETTERS  115 

Phil's  reminder  of  her  silence  in  his  own  way.  She 
would  make  a  medley  of  fragments  of  songs.  How 
to  begin  it  puzzled  her,  for  the  only  song  she  could 
think  of,  containing  his  name,  was  "  Philip,  my 
King,"  and  she  dismissed  that  immediately,  as  im 
possible.  All  the  way  home  she  whistled  under  her 
breath  bits  of  old  melodies,  one  suggesting  another, 
until  she  had  a  long  list,  and  she  made  haste  to 

;  write  them  down,  for  fear  she  might  forget.  From 
the  back  of  an  old  dog-eared  guitar  instructor, 
which  she  found  in  the  book-case,  she  copied  many 

;  titles  of  ballads,  and  among  them  came  across  the 
line,  "  Friend  of  my  soul,  the  goblet  sip."  It  was 
one  which  she  knew  Phil  was  familiar  with,  for 
she  remembered  having  heard  him  sing  it  at  the 

i  Wigwam.  So  she  promptly  chose  the  first  four 
words  as  the  ones  with  which  to  commence.  The 
first  part  of  the  letter  ran  somewhat  after  this 
fashion : 

"  LONE  -  ROCK  (NOT)  BY  THE  SEA. 

"  '  FRIEND  OF  MY  SOUL  ' :  —  *  The  day  is  cold 

and  dark  and  dreary.'     '  In  the  gloaming,'  '  The 

1  swallows  homeward  fly.'     '  The  daily  question  is,' 

'What's  this  dull  town  to  me?'     'Tell  me  not  in 

mournful  numbers '  that  '  I'd  better  bide  a  wee.' 


n6 


MARY    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 


1  Oh,  'tis  not  true ! '  'I  hear  the  angel  voices  call 
ing  '  '  Where  the  sun  shines  bright  on  my  old  Ken 
tucky  home,'  and  '  I  want  what  I  want  when  I  want 


it.' 


It  took  an  entire  evening  to  evolve  a  letter  which 
suited  her,  and  although  it  was  utter  foolishness, 
she  managed  to  give  the  news  and  to  convey  through 
the  cleverly  combined  titles  £he  fact  that  she  was 
still  struggling  to  get  away  from  Lone-Rock,  that 
there  was  no  "  swain  amang  the  train  "  to  keep  her 
from  "  going  back  to  Dixie  "  "  in  the  sweet  bye  and 
bye."  She  also  found  a  way  to  make  complimentary 
mention  of  Bonnie  Eloise. 

That  was  the  last  evening,  however,  which  she  de 
voted  to  trivial  things  for  many  weeks.  For  Jack 
came  home  next  noon  greatly  troubled  over  condi 
tions  at  the  office.  The  bookkeeper  was  down  with 
pneumonia.  There  was  no  one  who  could  step  intc 
his  place  but  Jack,  and  he  already  had  his  hands  fi 
with  his  own  responsibilities  and  duties. 

"  It  is  the  correspondence  which  worries  rm 
most,"  he  said.  "  We  haven't  had  enough  of  that 
kind  of  work,  so  far,  to  justify  us  hiring  a  steno^ 
rapher,  but  some  days  the  mail  is  so  heavy  that  it 
keeps  me  pounding  on  the  typewriter  an  hour  01 


TOLD   IN  LETTERS  117 

more.  Now,  Mary,  if  you  had  only  added  short 
hand  to  your  many  accomplishments,  there'd  be  a 
fine  chance  for  you  to  help  hold  the  fort  till  Bailey 
gets  well." 

"  I  can  help  do  it,  anyhow,"  she  declared 
promptly.  "  I  know  how  business  letters  ought  to 
sound  — '  Yours  of  recent  date  '  and  '  enclosed 
herewith  please  find '  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
can  scratch  off  in  pencil  a  sort  of  outline  of  what 
you  want  said,  and  then  take  my  time  copying  it  on 
the  machine." 

Past  experience  had  taught  the  family  that  when 
ever  Mary  attempted  anything  with  the  eagerness 
with  which  she  proposed  this  plan,  she  always 
carried  it  through  triumphantly,  and  Jack's  face 
showed  his  relief  as  he  promptly  accepted  her 
offer. 

"  No  use  for  you  to  come  down  this  afternoon," 
he  said.  "  I'll  be  too  busy  looking  after  other  things 
to  give  any  time  to  letters." 

"  But  I  can  be  making  the  acquaintance  of  the 
machine,"  answered  Mary.  "  Madam  Chartley's 
stenographer  learned  to  run  hers  simply  by  study 
ing  the  book  of  instructions.  And  if  it  won't  bother 
you  to  hear  me  clicking  away  I'll  put  in  the  whole 
afternoon  practising." 


Il8          MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

So  when  Jack  went  back  to  the  office,  Mary  went 
with  him,  happy  and  excited  over  this  unexpected 
entrance  into  the  world  of  Business. 

"  Who  knows  but  what  this  may  be  a  stepping- 
stone  into  a  successful  career?"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why  didn't  I  think  of  applying  to  you  for  a  posi 
tion  in  the  very  beginning?  It  would  have  saved  a 
world  of  worry  and  disappointment,  and  a  small 
fortune  in  postage  stamps." 

He  had  time  for  only  a  short  explanation  of  the 
machine  before  he  was  called  away,  but  the  book  of 
instructions  was  clear  and  concise.  She  studied  the 
illustrations  and  diagrams  for  awhile  with  her  whole 
attention  concentrated  on  them.  Accustomed  to 
picking  up  new  crochet  stitches  and  following  in 
tricate  patterns  from  printed  directions,  it  was  an 
easy  matter  for  her  to  master  the  intricacies  of  the 
new  machine.  Several  times  she  stopped  Jack  in 
passing  to  ask  him  a  question  about  some  move 
ment  or  adjustment,  but  in  the  main  she  exper 
imented  until  she  could  answer  her  own  ques 
tions. 

In  a  little  while  she  could  shift  the  ribbon  or  flip 
a  sheet  of  paper  in  and  out  with  the  ease  of  an 
expert.  Then  she  began  studying  the  keyboard, 
to  learn  the  position  of  the  letters,  and  after  that 


*j  > 

'  /.,  .'• 


SEVERAL    TIMES    SHE    STOPPED    JACK    IN    PASSING    TO 
ASK  HIM  A   QUESTION." 


TOLD  IN  LETTERS  119 

it  was  only  a  question  of  practice  to  gain  speed. 
Fingers  that  'had  learned  nimbleness  and  accuracy 
of  touch  in  other  fields,  did  not  lag  long  here. 
Hour  after  hour  she  sat  at  the  machine,  practising 
ringer  exercises  as  patiently  as  if  the  keys  were  the 
ivories  of  a  grand  piano. 

The  next  letter  which  she  sent  to  Phil,  some  days 
later,  was  such  a  contrast  to  the  musical  medley 
that  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  they  had  been 
written  by  the  same  person. 

"  LONE  -  ROCK,  ARIZONA,  April  2d. 
"  MR.  PHILIP  TREMONT, 
"  Necaxa,  Mexico. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  Your  favor  of  the  24th  ult.  duly 
received  and  contents  noted.  I  am  much  gratified 
with  your  reference  to  my  last  epistle,  and  your 
hearty  encore,  but  I  can  give  no  more  muscial  mono 
logues  at  present.  I  am  engaged  as  Corresponding 
Secretary  in  the  office  of  the  Lone-Rock  Mining 
Company.  Corresponding  Secretary  may  be  too 
grand  a  name  to  give  my  humble  position,  but  it 
comes  nearer  to  describing  it  than  iany  that  I  can 
think  of. 

"  First  I  came  in  just  to  help  Jack  out,  while  his 
chief  was  away  and  the  bookkeeper  ill.  I  helped 


120  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

him  with  the  correspondence  and  all  sorts  of  odds 
and  ends,  and  between  times  practised  typewriting, 
till  now  I  can  take  dictation  on  the  machine  when 
he  speaks  at  a  moderately  slow  pace. 

"  Yesterday  he  received  a  telegram  calling  him 
East  to  a  special  directors'  meeting,  to  report  on 
something  unexpected  that  has  recently  developed 
out  here.  So  I'm  to  stay  on  at  the  office  while  he 
is  gone,  on  a  salary!  A  very  modest  one  it  is  to  be 
sure,  but  it  is  bliss  to  feel  that  at  last  I  have  found 
a  paying  position,  no  matter  how  small  it  is.  Isn't 
it  queer  ?  Lone-Rock  is  the  last  place  on  the  planet 
where  a  girl  like  me  would  expect  to  find  anything 
of  the  sort  to  do.  Mr.  Headley,  the  chief,  is  back, 
of  course,  or  Jack  couldn't  leave,  and  I'm  watching 
my  opportunity  to  make  myself  so  useful  around 
the  office  that  they'll  all  wonder  how  they  ever 
'  kept  house  '  so  long  without  me. 

"  Mr.  Bailey's  pneumonia  has  been  blessed  to  me 
if  not  to  him,  for  it  has  broken  the  spell,  or  hoo 
doo,  or  whatever  it  was  that  thwarted  all  my  efforts. 
Fortune's  '  turn '  is  slowly  approaching.  Let  it 
come  when  it  will  I  can  now  meet  it  like  the  winged 
spur  of  me  ancestors,  with  the  cry  '  Ready !  Aye, 
ready ! ' 

"  Trusting  that  this  explanation  is  satisfactory. 


TOLD   IN  LETTERS  121 

and  that  we  may  be  favored  by  a  reply  at  your 
earliest  convenience,  I  have  the  honor  to  remain, 
"  Yours  very  truly, 

"M.  WARE. 

"  (P.  S.  I  must  ask  you  to  observe  the  very 
tasty  manner  in  which  this  is  typed.)" 

The  next  letter  from  Mary  to  Phil  was  hastily 
scribbled  in  pencil. 

"  DEAR  PHIL  :  —  Jack  came  home  yesterday  with 
a  bit  of  news  for  the  Ware  family,  which  set  it  into 
a  wild  commotion,  to  say  the  least.  Nobody  but  the 
family  is  to  know  it  for  awhile,  but  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  because  you're  sort  of  '  next  of  kin/  Jack 
said  I  might,  but  you  mustn't  send  your  congratu 
lations  until  you  are  officially  notified. 

"  When  Jack  went  East  to  that  directors'  meet 
ing  he  stopped  over  Sunday  in  Lloydboro  Valley, 
and  Betty  was  home  from  Warwick  Hall  on  her 
Easter  vacation,  and  he  saw  her  again,  and  well  — 
they're  engaged!  Isn't  it  perfectly  lovely?  I've 
known  for  a  long  time  that  they  have  been  cor 
responding.  They  began  it  over  me  while  I  was 
at  Warwick  Hall.  It  will  probably  be  a  long  time 


122  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

before  they  are  married.  Betty  will  finish  teaching 
this  term  at  Warwick  Hall  and  then  go  back  to 
Locust  for  awhile.  Jack  is  to  be  promoted  to  Mr. 
Headley's  place  next  fall,  and  I  think  the  grand 
event  will  take  place  the  following  spring,  a  year 
from  now. 

"  You  know  Betty,  and  what  a  perfectly  darling 
saint  she  is,  so  I  needn't  tell  you  how  the  entire 
family  rejoices  over  Jack's  good  fortune,  although 
we  do  think  too,  that  she  is  equally  fortunate  to 
have  Jack  and  —  us.  Don't  you?  " 

It  was  May  before  another  letter  found  its  way 
from  Lone-Rock  to  the  little  station  up  in  the  moun 
tains  of  Mexico,  to  which  Phil  sent  a  daily  mes 
senger  on  mule-back  for  his  mail.  Mary  wrote  it 
in  the  office  while  waiting  for  Jack  to  come  in  again 
and  go  on  with  his  dictation.  It  had  been  inter 
rupted  in  the  middle  by  some  outside  matter  which 
called  him  away  from  his  desk  for  nearly  an 
hour. 

"No,"  she  began,  "  I  must  confess  that  it  isn't 
lack  of  time  which  has  kept  me  so  long  from  an 
swering  your  last  letter,  but  merely  lack  of  news. 
Mr.  Bailey  is  back  at  his  post  now  as  good  as  new 
after  his  spell  of  pneumonia.  I  had  a  busy  month 


TOLD  IN  LETTERS  123 

while  he  was  out,  but  now  there  isn't  enough  for 
me  to  do  to  justify  their  keeping  me  more  than  an 
hour  or  so  each  morning. 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  that  much  of  a  position 
however,  for  it  adds  a  trifle  every  week  to  my  bank 
account,  and  breaks  into  the  monotony  of  the  days 
more  than  you  can  imagine.  I  come  down  just 
after  the  morning  train  gets  in  and  stay  long 
enough  to  attend  to  the  day's  correspondence.  Usu 
ally  it  takes  about  an  hour. 

"  I  haven't  written  for  some  time  because  there 
was  nothing  to  tell.  Of  course  the  mountains  are 
beautiful  in  this  perfect  May  weather,  but  you 
wouldn't  want  to  read  pages  of  description.  There 
has  been  nothing  going  on  socially  since  the  Valen 
tine  party.  Pink  Upham  used  to  stir  up  things 
quite  often,  but  he  seems  to  be  very  much  absorbed 
in  his  business  lately,  and  I  rarely  see  him.  Occa 
sionally  I  go  for  a  tramp  up  the  mountains  with 
Norman  and  Billy,  and  we  went  fishing  twice  last 
week,  and  cooked  our  lunch  on  the  creek  bank. 

"  But  if  we  are  not  doing  things  ourselves  we 
are  enjoying  the  activities  of  our  friends.  Have  I 
ever  told  you  that  Lieutenant  Boglin  is  now  in  the 
Philippines?  He  sent  me  a  bunch  of  photographs 
from  there  last  week  that  make  me  wild  to  see  the 


124  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

place.  And  Roberta  is  abroad  with  her  family  and 
is  having  adventures  galore  in  London. 

"  Gay  is  having  all  sorts  of  good  times  at  the 
post,  and  even  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barnaby  up  in 
Bauer  are  planning  for  a  trip  to  the  Pacific  coast. 

"  J°yce  and  Miss  Henrietta  have  shut  up  the 
studio  for  a  few  weeks,  and  have  gone  to  Tours  to 
join  Cousin  Kate  and  sketch  awhile  in  that  lovely 
chateau  region.  And  that  reminds  me  of  the  ques 
tion  you  asked  in  your  last  letter  about  Jules  Ci- 
seaux.  I  wonder  how  you  happened  to  think  of 
him.  He  came  to  America  last  year  just  as  he  had 
expected  to  do,  but  he  got  no  farther  than  New 
York.  Joyce  told  us  all  about  him  when  she  was 
home  last  Christmas.  She  says  he  has  grown  up 
to  be  a  wonderfully  interesting  young  fellow,  slim 
and  dark,  with  a  most  distinguished  air  and  courtly 
manner.  Something  called  him  back  to  France  be 
fore  he  made  his  Western  trip,  and  he  lamented  to 
her  that  he  could  not  meet  her  '  young  sister  Marie,' 
whom  he  '  pictured  to  be  most  charming  and  accom 
plished.'  But  I  suppose  it's  destined  that  we  shall 
never  see  each  other,  for  he's  married  now  to  a 
little  artist  whom  he  met  in  Paris  when  he  was 
studying  there.  He  came  across  her  again  in  New 
York,  and  Joyce  says  she  knows  now  that  that  is 


TOLD   IN  LETTERS  125 

what  took  him  back  again  so  suddenly  to  Paris. 
The  girl  was  just  starting,  and  he  took  passage  on 
the  same  steamer.  They  are  living  now  in  the  home 
of  his  ancestors  behind  the  great  Gate  of  the  Giant 
Scissors,  and  Joyce  was  entertained  there  at  dinner 
one  night,  and  was  charmed  with  young  Mrs.  Jules. 
She  says  they  are  as  happy  as  two  Babes  in  Candy- 
land. 

"  Oh,  I've  just  thought  —  I  am  doing  something, 
although  it  may  not  appeal  to  your  masculine  mind 
as  anything  worth  mentioning.  Mamma  and  I  are 
both  at  work  on  some  beautiful  embroidery  for 
Betty.  It  is  so  fine  and  intricate  that  we  can  only 
do  a  little  at  a  time,  but  it  is  a  labor  of  love,  like  the 
touches  the  old  monks  used  to  put  on  their  illumi 
nated  missals.  Nothing  can  be  too  fine  and  dainty 
for  our  dear  Betty,  and  we  are  counting  the  months 
until  we  can  really  claim  her.  Do  you  suppose  you 
will  be  back  in  the  States  by  that  time  ?  I  truly  hope 
so.  In  the  meantime  don't  forget  your  old  friends 
of  the  Wigwam  days,  and  especially,  this  member  of 
the  House  of  Ware." 


CHAPTER   VII 

A   DESERT   OF   WAITING 

IT  was  so  still  on  the  porch  where  Mary  and  her 
mother  sat  sewing  that  warm  May  afternoon  that 
they  could  distinctly  hear  the  Moredock  phonograph, 
playing  some  new  records  over  and  over.  One  of 
them  was  a  quick-step  that  the  military  band  had 
often  played  at  Fort  Sam  Houston,  and  as  Mary 
listened  an  intolerable  longing  for  stir  and  excite 
ment  took  possession  of  her.  She  wanted  to  be  back 
in  the  midst  of  people  and  constantly  changing 
scenes.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  endure  the 
deadly  monotony  of  Lone-Rock  another  day. 

Usually  she  had  much  to  say  as  they  sat  and 
sewed  through  the  long  still  afternoons,  but  to-day 
the  music  claimed  her  attention.  It  was  very  pleas 
ing  at  that  distance,  but  it  was  disquieting  in  its 
effect.  She  dropped  her  embroidery  into  her  lap 
and  sat  looking  out  at  the  narrow  grass-grown  road 
winding  past  the  house  and  over  the  hill,  and  ending 
in  a  narrow  mountain  path  beyond. 

126 


A  DESERT  OF  WAITING  127 

"  Mamma,"  she  asked  suddenly,  in  one  of  the 
pauses  of  the  music,  "  were  any  of  our  ancestors 
tramps  or  gypsies?  Seems  to  me  they  must  have 
been,  or  I  wouldn't  feel  the  '  Call  of  the  Road '  so 
strongly.  Don't  you  feel  it?  As  if  it  beckons  and 
you  must  break  loose  and  follow,  to  find  what's 
waiting  for  you  around  the  next  turn?" 

Mrs.  Ware  shook  her  head.  "  No,"  she  said 
slowly.  "  I'm  like  the  old  Israelites.  When  they 
came  to  Elim,  with  its  wells  and  palm  trees,  they 
were  glad  to  camp  there  indefinitely.  This  is  my 
Elim." 

"  I  wonder,  now,"  mused  Mary,  "  if  they  really 
were  satisfied.  I  don't  mean  to  be  irreverent,  but 
only  last  night  I  read  that  verse,  '  Whether  it  were 
two  days  or  n  month  or  a  year  that  the  cloud  tar 
ried  upon  the  tabernacle,  the  Children  of  Israel 
abode  in  their  tents  and  journeyed  not'  And  I 
thought  that  among  so  many,  there  must  have  been 
a  lot  of  them  who  were  impatient  to  get  on  to  their 
promised  land;  who  fretted  and  fumed  wihen  day 
after  day  the  pillar  of  cloud  never  lifted  to  lead 
them  on.  I'd  have  been  like  that.  If  we  could  only 
know  how  long  we  have  to  stay  in  a  place  it  would 
make  it  lots  easier.  Now,  if  I  had  known  last  fall 
that  eight  months  would  go  by  and  find  me  still 


128  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

here  in  Lone-Rock,  I'd  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
the  inevitable  and  settled  down  comfortably.  It's 
the  dreadful  uncertainty  that  is  so  hard  to  bear." 

Just  then  the  phonograph  started  up  one  of  its 
old  records.  "I  want  what  I  want  when  I  want 
it!"  They  both  looked  up  and  laughed  at  each 
other. 

"  That  is  the  cry  of  the  ages,"  said  Mrs.  Ware 
merrily.  "  I've  no  doubt  that  even  the  tribes  of 
Israel  had  some  version  of  that  same  song,  and 
wiailed  it  often  on  the  march.  But  their  very  im 
patience  showed  that  they  were  not  fit  to  go  on 
towards  their  conquest  of  Canaan." 

"  Then  you  think  that  7  am  not  fitted  yet  to 
take  possession  of  my  Canaan  ? "  Mary  asked 
quickly. 

"  I  don't  know,  dear,"  was  the  hesitating  answer, 
"but  I've  come  to  believe  that  ev«ry  one  who 
reaches  the  best  that  life  holds  for  him  reaches  it 
through  some  Desert  of  Waiting.  You  remember 
that  legend  of  old  Camelback  Mountain,  don't 
you?" 

Mary  nodded,  and  Mrs.  Ware  quoted  softly,  "  No 
one  fills  his  crystal  vase  till  he  has  been  pricked  by 
the  world's  disappointments  and  bowed  by  its  tasks. 
.  .  .  Oh,  thou  vendor  of  salt,  is  not  any  waiting 


A   DESERT   OF   WAITING  129 

worth  the  while,  if  in  the  end  it  give  thee  wares 
with  which  to  gain  a  royal  entrance  ?  " 

Mary  waited  a  moment,  then  with  an  impatient 
shrug  of  her  shoulders  picked  up  her  embroidery 
'.hoops  again.  In  her  present  mood  it  irritated  her 
to  be  told  that  waiting  was  good  for  her.  The 
legend  itself  irritated  her.  She  wondered  how  any 
one  could  find  any  comfort  in  it,  least  of  all  her 
mother,  whose  life  had  been  so  largely  a  desert  of 
hard  work  and  hard  times. 

Presently,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  thought,  Mrs. 
Ware  looked  up,  saying,  "  You  spoke  just  now  of 
the  call  of  the  road.  It  is  strange  how  strongly 
I've  felt  it  all  afternoon,  only  my  call  takes  me  back 
ward.  I've  been  living  over  little  scenes  that  I 
haven't  thought  of  before  in  years;  hearing  little 
things  your  father  said  when  Joyce  and  Jack  were 
babies;  seeing  the  neighbors  back  in  Plainsville. 
Maybe  that  is  one  reason  I  am  not  impatient  to 
push  on  any  farther  into  the  future.  I  have  such  a 
(beautiful  Memory  Road  to  travel  back  over.  I'd 
rather  sit  and  recall  the  turns  in  that  than  wonder 
what  lies  on  ahead." 

"  For  instance,"  suggested  Mary,  and  Mrs.  Ware 
immediately  began  a  reminiscence  that  Mary  remem 
bered  hearing  when  a  child.  But  to-day  she  realized 


130  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

that  there  was  a  difference  in  the  telling.  Her 
mother  was  not  repeating  it  as  she  used  to  do  to 
amuse  the  children  who  clamored  for  tales  of  Once 
upon  a  time.  She  was  speaking  as  one  woman  to 
another,  opening  a  chapter  into  the  inmost  history 
of  her  heart. 

"  She  recognizes  the  fact  that  I'm  grown  up," 
Mary  thought  to  herself  with  satisfaction,  and  she 
was  conscious  that  her  mother  was  taking  quite  as 
deep  a  pleasure  in  this  sense  of  equal  understanding 
and  companionship  as  she. 

It  was  nearly  sundown  when  a  slow  creaking  of 
wheels  and  soft  thud  of  hoofs  on  the  grass-grown 
road  called  their  attention  to  a  short  procession  of 
wagons  and  horsemen,  winding  along  towards  the 
•house.  A  long  pine  box  was  in  the  first  wagon,  and 
several  families  crowded  into  the  others. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  funeral  procession !  "  whispered  Mary, 
pushing  back  a  little  further  into  the  shadow  of  the 
vines,  so  as  to  be  out  of  sight.  "  It  must  be  that 
Mr.  Locksley  who  was  killed  yesterday  over  at 
Hemlock  Ridge  by  a  falling  tree.  Isn't  it  awful?  " 

She  gave  a  little  shiver  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  they  rested  on  the  children  in  the  second 
wagon.  There  had  been  a  pitiful  attempt  to  honor 
the  dead  by  following  the  conventions.  The  woman 


A  DESERT  OF  WAITING  13! 

who  sat  bowed  over  on  the  front  seat  like  an  image 
of  despair,  wore  a  black  veil  and  cotton  gloves ;  and 
black  sunbonnets,  evidently  borrowed  from 
grown-up  neighbors,  covered  the  flaxen  hair  of 
three  little  girls  in  pink  calico  dresses,  who  nestled 
against  her.  There  was  a  band  of  rusty  crape 
fastened  around  the  gray  cow-boy  hat  that  the  boy 
wore. 

The  pathetic  little  procession  wound  on  past  the 
house  and  up  the  hill,  then  was  lost  to  sight  as  it 
passed  into  a  grove  of  cedars  on  the  right,  behind 
which  lay  the  lonely  cemetery.  Only  a  few  times  in 
her  life  had  Mary  come  this  close  to  death.  Now 
the  horror  of  it  seemed  to  blot  out  all  the  brightness 
of  the  sweet  May  day,  and  the  thought  of  the  grief- 
stricken  woman  in  the  wagon  cast  such  a  shadow 
over  her  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  unshed  tears  and 
her  hands  trembled  when  she  took  up  her  needle 
again. 

"  It's  so  awful !  "  she  exclaimed,  when  they  had 
passed  out  of  hearing.  "  They  were  all  over  at  that 
dinner  at  Hemlock  Ridge  that  Pink  took  me  to  last 
winter.  I  remember  Mr.  Locksley  especially  be 
cause  he  was  so  big  and  strong-looking,  like  a  young 
giant,  almost.  I  asked  Pink  who  he  was,  because  I 
noticed  how  good  he  was  to  his  family,  carrying  the 


132  MARY   W 'ARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

baby  around  on  one  arm  and  helping  his  wife  un 
pack  baskets  with  the  other.  Yesterday  morning 
when  he  left  the  house  he  was  just  as  well  and  strong 
as  anybody  in  the  world,  Captain  Doane  told  me. 
He  went  off  laughing  and  joking,  and  stopped  to 
call  back  something  to  his  wife  about  the  garden, 
and  two  hours  later  they  carried  him  home  —  like 
that!  In  just  an  instant  the  life  had  been  crushed 
out  of  him." 

Her  voice  broke  and  she  swallowed  hard  before 
she  could  go  on. 

"  I've  always  thought  death  wouldn't  be  so  bad 
if  one  could  die  as  dear  Beth  did,  in  '  Little 
Women.'  Don't  you  remember  how  sweetly  and 
gently  she  faded  away,  and  so  slowly  that  there  was 
no  great  shock  when  the  end  came?  She  had  time 
to  get  used  to  the  idea  of  going,  and  to  say  things 
that  would  comfort  them  after  she  was  gone.  But 
to  be  snatched  away  like  Mr.  Locksley  —  without  a 
moment's  warning  —  it  seems  too  dreadful!  I 
don't  see  how  God  can  let  such  cruel  things  happen." 

"  But  think,  little  daughter,"  urged  Mrs.  Ware 
gently,  "how  much  he  was  spared.  No  long  ill 
ness,  no  racking  pain,  no  lingering  with  the  con 
sciousness  that  he  was  a  burden  to  others!  There 
is  nothing  cruel  in  that.  It's  a  happy  way  for  the 


A  DESERT  OF   WAITING  133 

one  who  goes,  dear,  to  go  suddenly.  It  is  the  way 
of  all  others  I  would  choose  for  myself." 

"  But  think  of  the  ones  left  behind!  "  said  Mary, 
with  a  shudder.  "  I  don't  see  how  that  poor 
woman  can  go  on  living  after  having  the  one  she 
loved  best  in  all  the  world,  torn  so  suddenly  and 
so  utterly  out  of  her  life." 

"  But  he  isn't,  dear !  "  persisted  Mrs.  Ware  gently. 
:<  You  do  not  think  because  Joyce  has  gone  away 
to  another  land,  which  we  have  never  seen,  and  an 
ocean  rolls  between  us,  that  she  is  torn  out  of  our 
lives,  do  you?  She  does  not  know  what  we  are  do 
ing,  and  we  cannot  follow  her  through  her  busy, 
happy  days  over  there,  but  we  know  that  she  is  still 
ours,  that  her  love  flows  out  to  us  just  the  same,  that 
separation  cannot  make  her  any  less  our  own,  and 
that  she  looks  forward  with  us  to  the  happy  time 
when  we  -shall  once  more  be  together.  That's  all 
that  death  is,  Mary.  Just  a  going  away  into  an 
other  country,  as  Joyce  has  gone.  Only  the  separa 
tion  is  harder  to  bear  because  there  can  be  no  letters 
to  bridge  the  silence.  I  used  to  have  the  same  hor 
ror  of  it  that  you  do,  but  after  your  father  went 
away  I  learned  to  look  upon  it  as  God  intended  we 
should.  Not  a  horrible  doom  which  must  overtake 
every  one  of  us,  but  as  a  beautiful  mystery  through 


134          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

which  we  pass  as  through  an  open  gate,  with  glad 
surprise  at  the  things  that  shall  be  made  plain  to  us, 
and  with  a  great  sense  of  triumph." 

As  'she  spoke,  the  light  of  the  sunset  seemed  to 
turn  the  mountain  trail  up  which  she  was  gazing, 
into  a  golden  path  which  led  straight  up  to  the  City 
of  the  Shining  Ones,  and  its  radiant  glow  was  re 
flected  in  her  face.  Mary's  eyes  followed  hers. 
Somehow  she  felt  warmed  and  comforted  by  her 
mother's  strong  faith,  but  she  said  nothing.  Only 
sat  and  watched  with  her,  the  gorgeous  colors  of  the 
sunset  that  were  transfiguring  the  gray  old  moun 
tain. 

If  there  were  only  some  way  of  recognizing  at 
their  beginning,  the  days  which  are  to  be  hallowed 
clays  in  our  lives!  We  know  them  as  such  after 
they  have  slipped  by,  and  we  enshrine  them  in  our 
memories  and  go  back  to  live  them  over,  moment  by 
moment.  But  it  is  always  with  the  cry,  "  Oh,  if  I 
had  only  known?  If  I  had  only  rilled  them  fuller 
while  I  had  them!  If  I  had  not  left  so  much  un 
asked,  unsaid ! " 

Unconscious  that  this  was  such  a  time,  Mary  sat 
rocking  back  and  forth  in  the  silence  that  followed, 
drifting  into  vague  day  dreams,  as  they  watched  the 
changing  colors  over  the  western  mountain  tops. 


A  DESERT  OF   WAITING  135 

Then  a  click  of  the  back  gate-latch  called  them  both 
back  to  speech,  and  Norman  came  around  the  cor 
ner  of  the  house  swinging  a  string  of  fish.  He  an 
nounced  that  Billy  Downs  had  helped  catch  them 
and  was  going  to  stay  to  supper  to  help  eat  them. 

Billy  usually  stayed  to  supper  three  or  four  times 
a  week,  and  on  the  nights  when  lie  was  not  there 
Norman  was  at  his  house.  The  two  boys  were  in 
separable,  and  a  pleasant  intimacy  liad  grown  up 
between  the  families.  That  night  as  usual,  he  went 
home  at  nine  o'clock,  but  came  running  back  al 
most  immediately,  bareheaded  and  breathless.  His 
mother  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill.  The  only  doc 
tor  in  the  place  had  been  called  to  a  case  on  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain,  and  nobody  knew  when  he 
would  be  home.  His  father  and  Sara  were  nearly 
scared  stiff,  they  were  so  frightened,  and  wouldn't 
Mrs.  Ware  please  come  and  tell  them  what  to 
do? 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  siege,  for  no 
nurses  were  to  be  had  in  the  little  settlement,  and 
there  were  only  the  neighbors  to  turn  to  in  times 
of  stress  and  trouble.  What  true  neighborliness  is, 
in  the  fullest  meaning  of  the  word,  can  be  known 
only  in  pioneer  places  like  this.  Hands  already  full 
of  burdens  stretched  out  to  help  lighten  theirs,  and 


136  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

for  awhile  one  common  interest  and  anxiety  made 
the  families  of  Lone-Rock  as  one. 

But  most  of  the  women  who  came  to  offer  their 
services  had  little  children  at  home,  or  helpless  old 
people  who  could  not  be  left  long  alone,  or  more 
work  than  one  pair  of  hands  could  manage.  The 
only  two  of  experience,  not  thus  burdened,  were 
Mrs.  Ware  and  old  Aunt  Sally  Doane.  So  they 
took  turns  sitting  up  at  nights,  and  did  all  they 
could  on  alternate  days  to  relieve  poor  frightened 
Sara  and  her  anxious  father. 

Mary,  not  experienced  enough  to  be  left  in  charge 
in  the  sick  room,  did  double  duty  at  home.  She  did 
the  baking  for  both  families,  sometimes  three;  for 
many  a  time  old  Aunt  Sally,  too  worn  out  to  cook, 
went  home  to  find  a  basket  full  of  good  things 
spread  out  for  her  and  the  Captain  on  the  pantry 
shelves.  The  Downs  family  mending  went  into 
Mary's  basket,  and  Billy's  darns  and  patches  alone 
were  no  small  matter.  Several  times  a  week  she 
slipped  over  to  sweep  and  dust  and  do  many  neces 
sary  things  that  Sara  had  neither  time  nor  strength 
to  do. 

Remembering  how  valiantly  the  neighbors  had 
served  them  during  Jack's  long  illness,  Mary  gladly 
did  her  part,  and  a  very  large  one  towards  relieving 


A   DESERT  OF   WAITING  137 

the  stricken  household.  When  she  saw  Mr.  Downs' 
anxious  face  relax,  at  some  evidence  of  her  thought- 
fulness,  and  heard  Sara's  tearful  thanks  poured  out 
in  a  broken  voice,  she  was  glad  that  fate  had  kept 
her  in  Lone-Rock  to  play  the  good  angel  in  this 
emergency.  If  she  had  not  been  at  home,  Mrs.  Ware 
could  not  have  been  free  to  take  charge  of  the  in- 
yalid,  and  it  was  'her  skilful  nursing,  so  the  doctor 
said,  which  would  pull  her  through  the  crisis  if  any 
thing  could. 

After  the  first  week,  Mrs.  Ware  came  home  only 
in  the  afternoon  each  day,  to  sleep.  While  she  was 
doing  that,  Mary  tiptoed  softly  around  the  house 
till  her  tasks  were  done,  careful  not  to  disturb  the 
rest  that  was  so  precious  and  so  necessary.  Then 
she  took  her  mending  basket  out  on  the  front  porch, 
where  she  could  meet  any  chance  comers  before 
they  could  knock,  or  could  dhase  away  the  insistent 
roosters  who  tantalizingly  chose  that  corner  of  the 
yard  to  come  to  when  they  felt  impelled  to  crow. 

It  was  hard  to  sit  there  alone  through  the  long 
still  afternoons  while  her  mother  slept.  There 
were  a  hundred  things  she  wanted  to  talk  about, 
so  many  questions  she  wanted  to  ask,  so  many  little 
matters  on  which  she  needed  advice.  There  was 
not  even  the  Moredock  phonograph  to  listen  to 


138  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

now,  for  it  had  not  been  wound  up  since  the  begin 
ning  of  Mrs.  Downs'  illness,  lest  its  playing  dis 
turb  her.  All  she  could  do  was  to  sit  and  stitch  as 
patiently  as  she  could,  till  she  heard  the  bedroom 
door  open,  and  then  fly  to  make  her  mother  a.  cup 
of  tea  and  have  a  tempting  little  supper  ready  for 
her  when  she  should  come  out,  dressed  and  ready 
to  go  back  to  another  exhausting  vigil. 

The  few  minutes  while  Mrs.  Ware  sat  enjoying 
the  dainty  meal  were  the  -best  in  the  day  for  Mary, 
for  she  poured  out  her  pent-up  questions  and 
speeches,  reported  all  that  had  gone  on  since  the 
last  time  she  sat  there,  and  crowded  into  that  brief 
space  as  much  of  Jack's  sayings  and  Norman's  do 
ings  as  she  could  possibly  remember. 

"  Oh,  it'll  be  so  good  to  have  you  home  again  to 
stay !  "  she  would  say  every  time  when  Mrs.  Ware 
rose  to  start  back,  ending  her  good-bye  embrace  with 
a  tight  squeeze.  "  I  miss  you  so  I  can  hardly  stand 
it.  The  house  is  so  still  when  you  are  gone,  that 
if  a  fly  happens  to  get  in  its  buzz  sounds  like  a 
roar.  You  can't  imagine  how  deathly  still  it  is." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can!"  laughed  Mrs.  Ware.  "I've 
been  left  alone  myself.  I  don't  need  to  imagine. 
I've  experienced  it." 

Mary  hung  over  the  gate  to  which  she  had  fol- 


A   DESERT   OF    WAITING  139 

lowed  her  mother,  and  looked  after  her  down  the 
road,  thinking,  "  That  never  occurred  to  me  before. 
Of  course,  if  I  miss  her  as  I  do,  quiet  as  she  is, 
she  would  miss  a  rattletybang  person  like  me  twice 
as  much.  I  had  never  thought  of  her  getting  lonely, 
but  she'd  be  bound  to  if  I  went  away.  How'd  I 
feel  if  she'd  gone  with  Joyce  and  I  had  to  stay  here 
day  after  day  alone,  and  know  that  I'd  never  have 
fher  again  except  on  flying  visits,  and  that  s'he  was 
wrapped  up  in  all  sorts  of  interests  that  I  could 
never  have  a  part  in  ?  " 

All  that  evening  she  thought  about  it,  and  all  next 
morning;  and  when  Mrs.  Ware  came  home  in 
the  afternoon  she  met  her  with  a  serious  ques 
tion  : 

"  Mamma,  when  I'm  away  from  home  and  you're 
here  by  yourself,  do  you  miss  me  as  much  as  I  do 
you?" 

"  Oh,  a  thousand  times  more !  "  was  the  quick 
answer. 

"  Then  I've  made  up  my  mind.  Promised  Land 
or  no  Promised  Land,  I'm  not  going  away  to  stay 
until  Jack  brings  Betty  here  to  take  my  place." 

Taken  by  surprise,  the  look  which  illuminated 
Mrs.  Ware's  face  for  a  moment  showed  more 
plainly  than  she  had  intended  Mary  to  know,  how 


140 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 


much  it  had  cost  her  to  consent  to  her  going  away. 
After  that  if  there  were  times  when  Mary  was 
tempted  to  pity  herself  and  look  upon  that  decision 
as  a  great  sacrifice,  one  thought  of  her  mother's 
happy  face  and  the  glad  little  cry  that  had  welcomed 
her  announcement,  immediately  dispelled  any  mar 
tyr-like  feeling. 

"  Such  good  news  rests  me  more  than  any 
amount  of  sleep  can  do,"  declared  Mrs.  Ware,  as 
she  slipped  into  her  kimono  and  drew  down  the  win 
dow  shades.  "  You  don't  know  how  the  dread  of 
having  to  give  you  up  has  hung  over  me.  Every 
time  that  you've  gone  to  the  post-office  since  last 
October  I've  been  afraid  to  see  you  come  home  — 
afraid  that  you  were  bringing  some  summons  that 
would  take  you  away." 

"  Why,  mamma ! "  cried  Mary,  surprised  to  see 
that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I  didn't  dream 
that  you  felt  that  way  about  it.  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me?" 

"  Because  I  knew  that  you'd  stay  if  I  asked  it, 
and  I  couldn't  block  the  road  in  which  you  were 
sure  you  would  find  your  highest  good,  just  for  my 
own  selfish  pleasure.  Oh,  you  don't  know,"  she 
added,  with  a  wistfulness  which  brought  a  choke 
to  Mary's  throat,  "  what  a  comfort  you've  been 


A  DESERT  OF  WAITING  141 

to  me,  ever  since  the  day  you  came  back  from 
school,  after  Jack's  accident.  You've  always  been 
a  comfort  —  but  since  that  timei  it's  been  in  a  dif 
ferent  way.  I've  leaned  on  you  so !  " 

Deeply  touched  past  all  words,  Mary's  only  an 
swer  was  a  kiss  and  an  impulsive  hug,  before  she 
turned  away  to  hide  her  happy  tears.  All  after 
noon  as  she  sat  and  sewed,  the  words  sang  them 
selves  over  and  over  in  her  heart :  "  You've  always 
been  a  comfort,"  and  she  began  planning  many 
things  to  keep  them  true.  She  would  do  something 
to  stir  up  a  social  spirit  among  her  mother's  small 
circle  of  friends;  start  a  club,  perhaps,  have  read 
ings  and  teas  and  old-fashioned  quilting  bees ;  even 
a  masquerade  party  now  and  then.  Anything  to 
give  an  air  of  gaiety  to  the  colorless  monotony  of 
the  workaday  life  of  Lone-Rock.  So  with  her  en 
ergies  turned  into  a  new  channel  she  at  once  set 
to  work  vigorously  mapping  out  a  campaign  to 
be  put  into  effect  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Downs  should 
be  once  more  on  her  feet. 

It  was  a  happy  day  when  Mrs.  Ware  came  home 
saying  that  her  services  were  no  longer  needed. 
The  family  could  manage  without  her,  now  that 
a  sister  had  come  up  from  Phcenix  to  help  the  in 
valid  through  her  convalescence. 


142  MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

"  It  is  high  time !  You  are  worn  out !  "  said 
Jack,  scanning  her  face  anxiously. 

It  was  pale  and  drawn,  and  after  a  quick  scru 
tiny  he  rose  and  followed  her  into  the  next  room, 
saying  in  a  low  tone,  "  Mother,  I  believe  you've 
been  having  another  one  of  those  attacks.  Have 
you?" 

"  Just  a  slight  one,  last  night,"  she  confessed. 
"  But  it  was  soon  over." 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  but  low  as  the 
question  had  been,  Mary's  quick  ears  caught  both 
it  and  the  answer,  and  she  pounced  upon  him  the 
moment  he  reappeared,  demanding  to  know  what 
they  were  talking  about.  He  explained  in  an  un 
dertone,  although  he  had  again  closed  the  door 
behind  him  when  he  came  back  to  the  dining-room. 

''  That  winter  you  were  at  Warwick  Hall  she 
had  several  queer  spells  with  her  heart.  The  pain 
was  dreadful  for  awhile,  but  the  doctor  soon  re 
lieved  it,  and  she  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  you 
girls.  She  said  she  had  been  over-exerting  herself. 
That  was  all.  It  was  that  time  the  Fitchs'  house 
caught  fire  while  they  were  away  from  home.  She 
saw  it  first  and  ran  to  give  the  alarm  and  help  save 
things,  and  after  it  was  all  over  she  had  a  collapse. 
I  made  her  promise  just  now  that  she'd  go  to  bed 


A   DESERT  OF   WAITING  143 

and  stay  there  till  she  is  thoroughly  rested.  She's 
seen  Doctor  Bates.  He  gave  her  the  same  remedies 
she  had  before,  and  she  insists  she's  entirely  over 
it  now." 

With  a  vague  fear  clutching  at  her,  Mary  started 
towards  her  mother's  room,  but  Jack  stopped  her. 
'*  You  mustn't  go  in  there  looking  like  a  scared 
rabbit.  It  will  do  her  more  harm  than  good  to  let 
her  know  that  you've  found  out  about  it.  And 
really,  I  don't  think  there's  any  cause  for  alarm, 
now  that  the  attack  is  safely  over.  She  responds 
so  quickly  to  the  remedies  that  she'll  soon  be  all 
right  again.  But  she  must  take  things  easy  for 
awhile." 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  Mary  was  troubled  and 
uneasy,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  her  mother 
dressed  and  came  out  to  the  supper-table,  seemingly 
as  well  as  usual.  Twice  in  the  night  Mary  wakened 
with  a  frightened  start,  thinking  some  one  had 
called  her,  and,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  lay 
listening  for  some  sound  from  the  next  room. 
Once  she  stepped  out  of  bed  and  stole  noiselessly 
to  the  door  to  look  in  at  her.  The  late  moon, 
streaming  across  the  floor,  showed  Mrs.  Ware 
peacefully  sleeping,  and  Mary  crept  back,  relieved 
and  thankful. 


A    GREAT    SORROW 

NORMAN  cut  his  foot  the  following  day,  which 
was  Saturday;  not  seriously,  yet  deep  enough  to 
need  a  couple  of  stitches  taken  in  it,  and  to  necessi 
tate  the  wearing  of  a  bandage  instead  of  a  shoe  for 
awhile.  Sunday  morning,  by  the  aid  of  a  broom 
stick,  he  hopped  out  to  the  hammock  in  the  shady 
side  yard,  and  proceeded  to  enjoy  to  the  fullest  his 
disabled  condition.  For  some  reason  there  was  no 
service  in  the  little  school-house  which  usually  took 
the  place  of  a  chapel  on  the  Sabbath,  and  he  openly 
rejoiced  that  his  family  would  be  free  to  minister 
to  his  comfort  and  entertainment  all  day  long. 

The  hammock  hung  so  near  the  side  window  of 
the  kitchen  that  he  could  look  in  and  see  Mary  and 
his  mother  washing  up  the  breakfast  china  in  their 
deft,  dainty  way.  Jack  was  doing  the  morning 
chores  usually  allotted  to  his  younger  brother.  It 
was  with  a  sense  of  luxurious  ease  that  Norman 
lolled  in  the  hammock,  watching  Jack  bring  in 

144 


A   GREAT  SORROW  145 

wood  and  water,  carry  out  ashes  and  sweep  the 
porch.  In  his  role  of  Invalid  he  felt  privileged  to 
ask  to  be  waited  upon  at  intervals,  also  to  demand 
his  favorite  dessert  for  dinner.  He  did  this  through 
the  kitchen  window,  taking  part  in  the  conversa 
tion  which  went  on  as  a  brisk  accompaniment  to 
the  quick  movements  of  busy  hands. 

•  It  was  a  perfect  June  day,  the  kind  that  makes 
one  feel  that  with  a  sky  so  fair  and  an  earth  so 
sweet  life  is  too  full  to  ask  anything  more  of 
heaven.  Time  and  again  in  the  pauses  that  fell 
between  their  remarks,  Mary's  voice  jubilantly 
broke  out  in  the  refrain  of  an  old  hymn  that  they 
all  loved :  "  Happy  day,  oh,  happy  day !  "  And 
when  Jack's  deep  bass  out  on  the  porch  and  Mrs. 
Ware's  sweet  alto  in  the  pantry  took  up  the  words 
to  the  accompaniment  of  swishing  broom  and  clat 
tering  cups,  Norman  hummed  them  too,  like  a  big, 
contented  bumblebee  in  a  field  of  clover. 

Years  afterward  Mary  used  to  look  back  to  that 
day  and  fondly  re-live  every  hour  of  it.  Somehow 
every  little  incident  stood  out  so  vividly  that  she 
could  recall  even  the  feeling  of  unusual  well-being 
and  contentment  which  seemed  to  imbue  them  all. 

They  had  spread  the  table  out  under  the  trees 
at  Norman's  insistence,  and  she  had  only  to  close 


146  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

her  eyes  to  recall  how  each  one  looked  as  they  gath 
ered  around  it.  She  could  remember  even  the 
pearl  gray  tie  that  Jack  wore,  and  the  way  Nor 
man's  hair  curled  in  little  rings  around  his  forehead. 
And  she  could  see  her  mother's  quick  smile  of  ap 
preciation  when  Jack  slipped  a  cushion  into  her 
chair,  and  her  affectionate  glance  when  Norman 
reached  out  and  fingered  a  fold  of  her  white  dress. 
Both  the  boys  liked  to  see  her  in  white,  and  never 
failed  to  comment  on  it  admiringly  when  she  put 
it  on  to  please  them. 

All  afternoon  they  stayed  out-doors,  part  of  the 
time  reading  aloud  in  turn;  and  that  evening  in 
the  afterglow,  when  the  western  mountain  tops 
were  turning  from  gold  to  rose  and  pearl  and  pur 
ple,  they  sat  out  on  the  front  porch  watching  the 
glory  fade,  and  ending  the  day  with  Jack's  favor 
ite  song,  "  Pilgrims  of  the  Night." 

And  the  reason  that  this  day  stood  out  so  vividly 
from  all  the  others  in  her  life  was  because  it  was 
the  last  day  that  they  had  their  mother  with  them. 
That  night  the  old  pain  came  again,  just  for  an 
instant,  but  long  enough  to  stop  the  beating  of  the 
brave  heart  which  would  never  feel  its  clutch  again. 

There  are  some  pages  in  every  one's  life  better 
skipped  than  read.  What  those  next  few  hours 


A   GREAT  SORROW  147 

brought  to  Mary  and  the  boys  can  never  be  told. 
She  found  herself  in  her  own  room,  after  awhile, 
lying  across  the  foot  of  her  bed  and  trying  to 
thrust  away  from  her  the  awful  truth  that  was 
gradually  forcing  itself  upon  her  consciousness. 
Dazed  and  bewildered,  like  one  who  has  just  had 
a  heavy  blow  on  the  head,  she  could  not  adjust  her 
self  to  the  new  conditions.  She  could  not  imagine 
an  existence  in  which  her  mother  had  no  part.  She 
wondered  dully  how  it  would  be  possible  to  go  on 
living  without  her.  Aunt  Sally  Doane  came  in 
presently  and  took  her  in  her  arms  and  said  the 
comforting  things  people  usually  say  at  such  times, 
and  Mary  submitted  dumbly,  as  if  it  were  a  part 
of  a  bewildering  dream.  At  times  she  was  sure 
that  she  must  wake  up  presently  and  find  that  she 
had  been  in  the  grip  of  a  dreadful  nightmare.  It 
was  that  certainty  which  helped  her  through  the 
next  few  hours. 

It  helped  her  to  a  strange  calmness  when  Jack 
came  in  to  ask  her  about  the  trip  to  Plainsville. 
She  was  the  one  to  decide  that  he  must  go  alone 
to  the  quiet  little  God's  Acre  at  their  old  home, 
because  Norman's  foot  would  not  allow  him  to 
travel,  and  she  could  not  leave  him  behind  with 
just  the  neighbors  at  such  a  time.  It  was  the  sound 


148  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

of  Norman's  sobbing  in  the  next  room  which  made 
her  decide  this,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  she  was 
thinking,  "  This  is  one  of  the  most  vivid  dreams 
I  ever  had  in  my  whole  life,  and  the  most  horri 
ble," 

Hours  after,  when  all  the  neighbors  had  gone 
but  Aunt  Sally  and  the  old  Captain,  who  stayed  to 
keep  faithful  vigil,  Mary  stole  out  of  her  room  to 
look  at  the  clock.  It  seemed  as  if  the  night  would 
never  end.  A  dim  light  burning  in  the  living-room 
showed  that  everything  there  was  unchanged,  while 
the  old  clock  ticked  along  with  its  accustomed  clat 
ter  of  "All  right!  All  right!"  Surely,  with  the 
daylight  everything  would  be  all  right,  and  would 
awaken  to  the  usual  round  of  life.  Anything  else 
was  unbelievable,  unthinkable! 

On  the  way  back  to  her  room  Mary's  glance  fell 
on  her  mother's  sewing  basket  in  its  accustomed  cor 
ner.  A  long  strip  of  exquisitely  wrought  embroid 
ery  lay  folded  on  top.  It  was  the  piece  which  she 
had  finished  for  Betty  on  the  day  that  Mrs.  Downs 
was  taken  ill,  that  afternoon  when  they  sat  and 
watched  the  little  procession  file  over  the  hill  to 
the  grove  of  cedars.  How  plainly  Mary  could  re 
call  the  scene.  How  clearly  she  could  hear  her 
mother  saying,  "  It  is  a  happy  way  for  the  one  who 


A    GREAT   SORROW  149 

goes,  dear,  to  go  suddenly.  It  is  the  way  of  all 
others  I  would  choose  for  myself." 

And  then  with  a  force  that  made  her  heart  give 
a  great  jump  and  go  on  throbbing  wildly,  Mary 
realized  that  she  was  not  dreaming,  that  her  mother 
was  really  gone;  that  this  bit  of  embroidery  with 
the  needle  sticking  just  where  she  had  left  it  after 
the  final  stitch,  was  the  last  that  the  patient  fingers 
would  ever  do.  Dear  tired  fingers,  that  through 
so  many  years  had  wrought  unselfishly  for  her  chil 
dren;  so  unfailing  in  their  gentleness,  in  their 
power  to  comfort! 

With  a  rush  of  tears  that  blinded  her  so  that  she 
could  no  longer  see  the  beautiful  handiwork  which 
seemed  such  a  symbol  of  her  mother's  finished  life, 
Mary  rushed  back  to  her  room  to  throw  herself 
across  the  bed  again,  and  sob  herself  into  a  state 
of  exhaustion.  Then  after  a  long  time,  sleep  came 
mercifully  to  her  relief. 

When  she  awakened,  the  early  light  of  a  June 
dawn  was  stealing  into  the  room,  and  the  birds 
were  singing  jubilantly.  She  lay  there  a  moment, 
wondering  why  she  was  so  stiff  and  uncomfortable. 
Then  she  was  aware  that  she  was  still  dressed,  and 
memory  came  back  in  a  rush,  with  a  pain  so  over 
whelming  that  she  felt  utterly  powerless  to  get 


150  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

up  and  face  the  day  which  lay  ahead  of  her,  and 
all  the  stretch  of  dreary  existence  beyond  it. 

An  irresistible  impulse  seemed  drawing  her 
towards  her  mother's  room.  Presently  she  opened 
the  door  a  little  way  and  stood  looking  in.  Then 
step  by  step  she  advanced  into  the  room.  It  looked 
just  as  it  had  the  day  before  in  its  spotless  Sabbath 
orderliness,  except  that  the  rosebuds  in  the  glass 
vase  on  the  table  had  opened  into  full  bloom  in  the 
night.  The  white  dress  that  Mrs.  Ware  had  worn 
the  day  before  lay  across  a  chair,  the  sleeves  still 
round  and  creased  with  the  imprint  of  the  arms  that 
had  slipped  out  of  them. 

As  Mary  stood  by  the  bed,  looking  down  on  the 
still  form  with  the  smile  of  ineffable  peace  on  its 
sweet  face,  her  first  thought  was  that  she  had  never 
seen  such  gentle  sleep;  and  then  the  knowledge 
slowly  dawned  on  her,  overwhelmingly,  with  a 
great  feeling  of  awe  that  stilled  her  into  utter  calm, 
that  that  was  not  her  mother  lying  there ;  only  the 
familiar  and  beloved  garment  that  had  clothed  her. 
She  had  slipped  out  of  it  as  her  body  had  slipped 
out  of  the  white  dress,  lying  there  across  the  chair. 
A  holy  thing  it  was,  to  be  sure,  hallowed  by  the 
beautiful  spirit  which  had  tabernacled  in  it  so  long, 
and  bearing  her  mother's  imprint  in  every  part,  as 


A   GREAT  SORROW  151 

the  white  gown  still  held  the  imprint  of  the  form 
that  had  worn  it ;  but  no  more  than  that. 

Somehow  there  was  a  deep  strange  comfort  in 
the  knowledge,  even  while  the  mystery  of  it  baffled 
her.  And  her  mother's  words  came  back  to  her  as 
forcibly  as  if  she  were  hearing  them  for  the  first 
time: 

"  She  is  still  ours.  Her  love  Hows  out  to  us  just 
the  same.  The  separation  cannot  make  her  any  less 
our  own!  .  .  .  That's  all  that  death  is,  Mary,  just 
a  going  away  into  another  country,  as  Joyce  has 
done.  .  .  .  A  beautiful  mystery  through  which  we 
pass  as  through  an  open  gate,  with  glad  surprise  at 
the  things  that  shall  be  made  plain  to  us,  and  with 
a  great  sense  of  triumph! " 

Now,  as  Mary  faced  this  mystery,  a  belief  began 
to  grow  up  in  her  heart,  so  soothing,  so  comforting, 
that  she  felt  it  was  surely  heaven-sent.  Somewhere 
in  God's  universe,  this  sunny  June  morning,  her 
mother  was  alive  and  well.  She  was  loving  them 
all  just  as  tendefly  and  deeply  as  she  had  loved  them 
yesterday,  when  they  all  worked  together,  singing 
"  Happy  Day."  And  just  as  it  would  have  grieved 
her  then  to  have  seen  them  mourning  over  any  sor 
row,  so  it  would  grieve  her  now  to  know  that  they 
were  heart-broken  over  her  going  away. 


152  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

Mary  picked  up  the  white  dress  with  reverent 
fingers  and  laid  her. cheek  against  its  soft  folds  a 
moment  before  she  hung  it  away  in  the  closet.  Then 
she  turned  again  to  that  other  garment  which  had 
clothed  her  mother  so  long;  the  form  which  was 
so  like  her,  and  yet  so  mysteriously  different,  now 
that  her  warm,  living  personality  no  longer  filled  it. 

"  Dear,"  she  whispered,  her  eyes  brimming  over, 
"  you  were  too  unselfish  to  let  me  see  your  loneli 
ness  when  I  wanted  to  go  away  to  my  Happy  Val 
ley;  now  that  you  have  gone  to  a  happier  one  to 
be  with  papa,  I  mustn't  think  of  my  part  of  it,  only 
of  yours." 

There  was  untold  comfort  in  that  thought.  She 
clung  to  it  all  through  the  hours  that  followed, 
through  the  simple  service,  and  through  Jack's  go 
ing  away,  and  she  brought  it  out  to  comfort  Nor 
man  when  the  two  were  left  alone  together. 

"  She's  just  away,"  she  repeated,  trying  to  con 
sole  him  with  the  belief  which  was  beginning  to 
bring  a  peace  that  passed  her  understanding.  Every 
room  in  the  house  seemed  to  bear  the  imprint  of 
the  beloved  presence,  just  as  they  had  done  during 
those  weeks  when  she  waited  every  day  for  her 
mother  to  come  home  from  the  Downs. 

"  We  must  think  of  her  absence  in  that  way,"  she 


A   GREAT  SORROW  153 

repeated,  "  as  if  it  is  only  till  nightfall.  We  can 
bear  almost  anything  that  long,  if  we  take  it  only 
one  day  at  a  time.  It's  when  we  get  to  piling  up 
all  the  days  ahead  of  us  and  thinking  of  the  years 
that  we'll  have  to  do  without  her  that  it  seems  so 
unbearable.  And  you  know,  Norman,  if  she  were 
here  she'd  say  by  all  means  for  you  to  go  with 
Billy  when  he  comes  along  with  the  buggy.  She'd 
want  you  to  spend  all  this  afternoon  in  the  bright 
out  of  doors  instead  of  grieving  here  at  home." 

"  But  what  about  leaving  you  here  alone  ?  "  asked 
Norman,  with  a  new  consideration  for  her  which 
touched  her  deeply. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  busy  every  minute  of  the  time 
until  you  get  back.  I  must  write  to  Joyce  and  Hol 
land.  They'll  want  to  know  every  little  thing.  I 
feel  so  sorry  for  them,  so  far  away  —  " 

"  They'll  never  get  done  being  thankful  now,  that 
they  came  home  last  Christmas,"  said  Norman  in 
the  pause  that  followed  her  unfinished  sentence. 

"  And  I'll  never  get  done  being  thankful  that  I 
didn't  go  away,"  rejoined  Mary.  "  There  comes 
Billy  now.  You  can  hop  out  and  show  him  what 
to  do." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Billy  Downs  should 
stay  with  them  during  the  few  days  of  Jack's  ab- 


154  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

sence,  to  keep  them  company  and  to  do  Norman's 
chores,  which  his  disabled  foot  prevented  him  doing 
himself.  Soon  after  dinner  the  two  boys  started 
off  in  the  old  rattle-trap  of  a  buggy  to  drive  along 
the  shady  mountain  roads  all  afternoon  in  the  sweet 
June  weather,  and  Mary  went  to  her  letter-writing. 
It  was  a  hard  task,  and  she  was  thankful  that  she 
was  alone,  for  time  and  again  in  telling  of  that  last 
happy  day  together  she  pushed  the  paper  aside  to 
lay  her  head  on  the  table  and  sob  out,  not  only  her 
own  grief,  but  her  sympathy  for  Holland  and  Joyce 
so  far  away  among  strangers  at  this  heart-breaking 
time.  She  had  one  thing  to  console  her  which  they 
had  not,  and  which  she  treasured  as  her  dearest 
memory:  her  mother's  softly  spoken  commenda 
tion,  "  You've  always  been  a  comfort.  I've  leaned 
on  you  so." 

By  the  time  the  boys  came  back  she  had  regained 
her  usual  composure,  for  she  spent  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  in  the  garden,  weeding  borders  and  do 
ing  some  necessary  transplanting,  and  finding  "  the 
soft  mute  comfort  of  green  things  growing,"  which 
gardens  always  hold.  Next  day  in  folding  away 
some  of  her  mother's  things  she  came  across  a  yel- 
lowred  envelope  which  contained  something  of  more 
permanent  consolation  than  even  her  garden  had 


A   GREAT  SORROW  155 

given.  It  was  a  copy  of  Kemble's  beautiful  poem, 
Absence,  traced  in  her  mother's  fine  clear  hand 
writing.  The  ink  was  faded  and  the  margin  bore 
the  date  of  her  father's  death.  Several  of  the  lines 
were  underscored,  and  Mary,  reading  these  in  the 
light  of  her  own  experience,  suddenly  found  the 
key  to  the  great  courage  and  serenity  of  soul  with 
which  her  mother  had  faced  the  desolation  of  her 
early  widowhood. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  all  the  days  and  hours 
That  must  be  counted  ere  I  see  thy  face? 

"  Til  tell  thee;  for  thy  sake  I  will  lay  hold 
Of  all  good  aims,  and  consecrate  to  thee 
In  worthy  deeds,  each  moment  that  is  told 
While  thou,  beloved  one!  art  far  from  me. 

"  I  will  this  dreary  blank  of  absence  make 
A  noble  task  time.  .  . 

"  So  may  my  love  and  longing  hallowed  be, 
And  thy  dear  thought  an  influence  divine." 

Up  till  this  moment  there  had  been  one  element 
in  Mary's  grief  which  she  had  not  recognized 
plainly  enough  to  name.  That  was  a  sort  of  pity 
for  the  incompleteness  of  her  mother's  life;  the 
bareness  of  it.  The  work-worn  hands  folded  in 
their  last  rest  seemed  infinitely  pathetic  to  her,  and 


156 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 


some  of  her  hardest  crying  spells  had  been  when 
she  thought  how  little  they  had  grasped  of  the  good 
things  of  life,  and  how  they  had  been  taken  away 
before  she  had  a  chance  to  fill  them  herself  as  she 
had  so  long  dreamed  of  doing.  But  now,  in  the 
light  of  these  underscored  lines,  the  worn  hands 
no  longer  looked  pathetic.  They  seemed  rather  to 
have  been  folded  with  a  glad  sense  of  triumph  that 
they  had  made  such  "  a  noble  task  time  "  out  of  the 
dreary  blank. 

"  And  I  shall  do  the  same,"  whispered  Mary 
resolutely,  pressing  her  lips  together  in  a  tight  line, 
as  she  slipped  the  paper  back  into  its  yellowed  en 
velope  and  laid  it  aside  to  show  it  to  Jack  on  his 
return. 

So  many  household  duties  filled  her  time,  that  it 
was  over  a  week  before  she  resumed  her  daily  trips 
to  the  post-office.  The  first  time  she  went  the  old 
Captain's  first  question  was : 

"Of  course  you'll  stay  right  on  here  in  Lone- 
Rock." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  quick  answer.  "  As  long 
as  the  boys  need  me."  Then  with  a  wan  little  smile, 
"  I've  begun  to  think  it  was  never  intended  that  1 
should  reach  my  Promised  Land,  Captain  Doane." 

"  Does  look  like  it,"  assented  the  Captain  gravely. 


A   GREAT  SORROW  157 

"  About  everything  there  is  has  stepped  in  to  stop 
you.  Well,  your  staying  here  is  surely  Lone-Rock's 
gain." 

"  I  shall  certainly  try  to  make  it  so,"  was  Mary's 
answer.  "  Next  week  I'm  going  to  start  a  cooking 
class  for  the  little  Mexican  girls.  Mamma  and  I 
had  been  talking  it  over  for  several  weeks,  and  she 
was  so  interested  in  the  plan  that  I  couldn't  bear 
not  to  carry  it  out  now,  for  it  was  her  idea.  We 
found  ten  that  will  be  glad  to  learn.  I'm  to  have 
the  class  in  our  kitchen,  and  Mr.  Moredock  has 
promised  to  donate  the  materials  for  the  first  half- 
term  and  Mr.  Downs  for  the  second.  I'm  going 
down  to  the  store  now  to  order  the  first  lot." 

"  Make  Pink  donate  something,  too,"  suggested 
the  Captain. 

"  Oh,  he  has,  already.  He's  given  a  keg  of  nails 
and  some  tools  to  Norman  and  Billy,  so  that  they 
can  teach  practical  carpentry  to  some  of  the  Mex 
ican  boys  by  showing  them  how  to  patch  up  their 
leaky  shanties.  Norman  is  a  first-class  carpenter 
for  his  age.  It  was  Pink's  suggestion  that  they 
should  do  that.  I'm  so  grateful  to  him  for  getting 
Norman  interested  in  something  of  the  sort.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  could  never  get  over  the  dreadful 
shock  —  and  —  everything." 


158 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 


"  I  know,"  nodded  the  Captain,  understandingly. 
"  And  there's  nothing  like  using  your  hands  for 
other  people  to  lift  the  load  off  your  own  heart." 

The  lessons  in  cooking  and  carpentry  were  only  a 
few  of  the  things  that  went  to  the  making  of  "  a 
noble  task  time  "  out  of  the  little  mother's  absence. 
They  kept  her  always  in  their  lives  by  loving  men 
tion  of  her  name,  quoting  her  daily,  recalling  this 
preference  and  that  wish,  and  settling  everything 
by  the  question  "  would  mamma  want  us  to  do  it  ?  " 
And  gradually  time  brought  its  slow  healing,  as 
God  has  mercifully  provided  it  shall,  to  all  wounds, 
no  matter  how  deep,  and  the  daily  round  of  living 
went  on. 


PART     II 


THE  TORCH 

Make  me  to  be  a  torch  for  feet  that  grope 

Down  Truth's  dim  trail;  to  bear  for  wistful  eyes 

Comfort  of  light;    to  bid  great  beacons  blaze, 

And  kindle  altar  fires  of  sacrifice. 

Let  me  set  souls  aflame  with  quenchless  zeal 

For  high  endeavors,  causes  true  and  high. 

So  would  I  live  to  quicken  and  inspire, 

So  would  /,  thus  consumed,  burn  out  and  die. 

Albion  Fellows  Bacon. 


PART     II 

CHAPTER   I 
BETTY'S  WEDDING 

SPRING  had  come  to  Lloydsboro  Valley  earlier 
than  usual.  Red-bud  trees  glowed  everywhere,  and 
wild  plum  and  dogwood  and  white  lilac  were  all  in 
bridal  array.  At  The  Locusts  the  giant  trees  which 
arched  over  the  long  avenue  had  not  yet  hung  out 
their  fragrant  pennons  of  bloom,  but  old  Colonel 
Lloyd,  sauntering  down  towards  the  gate,  was  clad 
in  a  suit  of  fresh  white  duck.  Usually  he  waited 
until  the  blossoming  of  the  locusts  gave  the  signal 
for  donning  such  attire. 

As  he  neared  the  gate  he  quickened  his  pace,  for 
he  had  caught  sight  of  a  slim  girlish  figure  hurrying 
along  the  path  from  Oaklea,  and  a  graceful  little 
hand  waved  him  a  greeting.  It  was  Lloyd,  coming 
home  for  the  daily  visit  which  she  had  never  failed 
to  make  since  her  wedding  day,  six  months  before. 

"  Good  mawning,  grandfathah  deah,"  she  called 

161 


162  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

gaily  from  a  distance.  Then  added  as  she  joined 
him  and  lifted  her  face  for  the  customary  kiss, 
"  How  comes  it  that  you  are  all  diked  up  in  yoah 
white  clothes  so  early  in  the  season?  Don't  you 
know  that  we  haven't  had  blackberry  wintah  yet, 
and  it's  bound  to  turn  cold  again  when  they  bloom  ? 
Or  have  you  heard  so  much  about  the  wedding  that 
you  just  naturally  put  on  white  ?  " 

The  old  Colonel  playfully  pinched  her  cheek,  and 
linking  his  arm  in  hers,  turned  to  go  back  toward 
the  house  with  her. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Rob  Moore,  if  you  must  know,  my 
actions  are  guided  by  the  thermometer  and  not  by 
the  almanac,  and  I  haven't  heard  much  about  this 
wedding,  except  that  a  young  Lochinvar  has  come 
out  of  the  West  to  carry  away  our  little  Betty  before 
we  are  ready  to  give  her  up.  It's  too  much  to  lose 
you  both  within  half  a  year  of  each  other." 

"  How  utterly  you  have  lost  me !  "  teased  Lloyd. 
"  You  see  me  mawning,  noon  and  night.  When 
I'm  not  at  The  Locusts  you're  at  Oaklea,  or  at  the 
othah  end  of  the  telephone  wiah.  Heah  I  am,  come 
to  spend  the  whole  live-long  day  with  you,  and  you 
say  you  have  lost  me.  Own  up,  now.  Honest! 
I'm  yoah  same  little  girl  that  I've  always  been.  I 
haven't  changed  one  bit." 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  163 

"  I  know,"  he  admitted,  smiling  down  affection 
ately  into  the  glowing  face  lifted  to  his.  "  It  might 
have  been  worse.  But  it  will  be  losing  Betty  in 
reality  when  she  goes.  Arizona  is  a  far  country. 
I  wish  that  young  jackanapes  had  never  seen  her. 
There  are  plenty  of  fine  fellows  back  here  in  Ken 
tucky  she  might  have  had,  and  then  we'd  have  had 
her  where  we  could  see  her  once  in  a  while.  How 
long  has  it  been  since  she  came  to  The  Locusts  to 
live?" 

"  Twelve  yeahs,  grandfathah,"  said  Lloyd,  after 
a  pause,  in  which  she  counted  -backward.  "  She's 
been  just  like  a  real  sistah  to  me,  and  I  feel  worse 
than  you  do  about  giving  her  up.  Lone-Rock  does 
have  a  dreadfully  dismal  fo'saken  sawt  of  sound. 
But  I  can  ovahlook  that  for  Jack  Ware's  sake.  He's 
such  a  splendid  fellow." 

The  Colonel  made  no  answer  to  that,  for  he  fully 
agreed  with  her,  but  changing  the  subject  said  in 
an  aggrieved  tone,  "  I  suppose  that  even  the  few 
days  that  are  left  to  us  will  be  so  taken  up  with 
folderols  and  preparations  that  we'll  scarcely  see 
her.  It  was  that  way  when  Eugenia  had  her  wed 
ding  here;  caterers  and  florists  turning  the  house 
upside  down.  And  it  was  the  same  way  with  yours. 
So  many  people  in  the  house  always  going  and  com- 


164          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

ing,  so  many  things  to  be  planned  and  discussed 
and  decided,  that  I  scarcely  got  a  word  in  edge 
ways  with  you  for  a  whole  week  before." 

"  It  will  not  be  that  way  this  time,"  Lloyd  an 
swered.  "  It  has  been  less  than  a  yeah  since  Jack's 
mothah  died,  so  Betty  wouldn't  have  anything  but 
a  very  quiet  affair  on  that  account.  It  is  to  be  so 
simple  and  so  different  from  any  wedding  that 
you've  evah  seen  that  you'll  nevah  know  it's  going 
to  take  place  till  it  is  all  ovah.  There's  to  be  no 
flurry  or  worry  about  anything.  Mothah  wanted 
to  make  a  grand  occasion  of  it,  but  Betty  wouldn't 
let  her.  There'll  not  be  moah  than  half  a  dozen 
guests." 

They  had  reached  the  house  by  this  time,  and  on 
again  being  assured  that  Lloyd  intended  to  remain 
all  day,  the  Colonel  left  her  and  turned  back  to  take 
his  usual  morning  walk,  which  her  coming  had  in 
terrupted.  The  telephone  t>ell  rang  just  as  she 
entered  the  door,  so  Lloyd  ran  up-stairs  to  her  own 
room,  knowing  that  her  mother  would  be  busy  for 
a  few  minutes  with  giving  the  daily  household 
orders.  Lloyd's  own  ordering  had  been  done  nearly 
an  hour,  for  Rob's  business  necessitated  an  early 
breakfast  to  enable  him  to  catch  the  eight  o'clock 
car  into  the  city.  He  did  not  return  until  six,  so 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  165 

she  could  stay  away  from  home  any  day  she  chose, 
with  a  clear  conscience.  She  took  her  housekeep 
ing  seriously,  however,  and  had  turned  out  to  be 
a  most  capable  and  thorough-going1  little  house 
keeper,  but  with  experienced  servants  who  had 
taken  charge  of  Oaklea  for  years  her  cares  were 
not  heavy. 

Her  room  had  been  kept  for  her,  just  as  she  had 
used  it,  all  through  her  girlhood,  and  Mom  Beck 
put  fresh  flowers  in  it  every  day.  Lloyd  always 
darted  in  for  a  quick  look  around,  even  when  she 
came  for  only  a  short  while.  There  was  a  glass 
bowl  of  pink  hyacinths  on  her  desk  this  morning, 
and  she  sat  down  to  make  a  list  of  several  things 
which  she  wanted  to  suggest  for  the  coming  event. 
Presently  there  was  a  rustle  of  stiffly  starched  skirts 
in  the  hall,  and  she  looked  up  to  see  Mom  Beck 
in  the  doorway.  The  old  black  face  was  beaming 
as  she  called :  "  How's  my  honey  chile  this 
mawnin'  ?  "  Then  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
she  added,  "  Miss  Betty  said  to  tell  you  she's  up 
in  the  attic  rummagin',  and  wants  you  to  come  up 
right  away." 

Passing  on  down  the  hall,  Lloyd  paused  beside 
her  mother,  who  sat  with  telephone  receiver  to  her 
ear,  long  enough  to  seize  her  in  an  overwhelming 


l66          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

embrace  that  muffled  the  conversation  for  an  in 
stant,  then  hurried  up  the  attic  stairs  to  find  her 
old  playmate.  The  little  dormer  windows  were  all 
thrown  open,  and  the  morning  sun  streamed  in 
across  the  motley  collection  of  chests,  old  furniture 
and  the  attic  treasures  of  several  generations. 

On  a  camp-stool  in  front  of  a  little  old  leather 
trunk,  sat  Betty.  It  was  the  same  shabby  trunk  that 
had  held  all  her  earthly  possessions  when  she  left 
the  Cuckoo's  Nest  years  before,  and  she  was  pack 
ing  it  with  some  of  those  same  keepsakes  to  take 
with  her  on  her  wedding  journey  to  her  new  home 
in  the  far  West.  A  bright  bandanna  was  knotted 
into  a  cap  to  cover  her  curly  brown  hair,  and  a  long 
gingham  apron  protected  her  morning  dress  from 
the  attic  dust. 

Somehow,  as  she  sat  over  the  old  trunk,  care 
fully  folding  away  the  relics  of  her  childhood,  she 
looked  so  like  the  little  Betty  who  had  fared  forth 
alone  from  the  Cuckoo's  Nest  to  the  long  ago  house- 
party  at  The  Locusts,  that  Lloyd  exclaimed  aloud 
over  the  resemblance.  The  three  years  of  teaching 
at  Warwick  Hall  had  given  her  a  certain  grown-up 
sort  of  dignity,  added  a  sweet  seriousness  to  the 
always  sweet  face;  but  the  wistful  brown  eyes  and 
sensitive  little  mouth  wore  the  same  trustfulness  of 


DO  YOU  REMEMBER  THE  FIRST  TIME  YOU  EVER  SAW  THIS? 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  167 

expression  that  they  had  worn  for  the  mirror  in 
the  little  room  up  under  the  eaves  at  her  Cousin 
Hetty's. 

As  Lloyd's  bright  head  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  B°tty  glanced  up,  calling  gaily,  "  You  are 
just  in  time,  Lloyd,  to  see  the  last  of  these  things. 
Don't  they  take  you  back?  Do  you  remember  the 
first  time  you  ever  saw  this  ?  " 

She  dangled  a  little  white  sunbonnet  by  the 
string,  and  Lloyd,  picking  her  way  between  boxes 
and  barrels,  reached  out  her  hand  for  it,  then 
dropped  to  a  seat  on  the  rug  which  had  been  spread 
out  to  receive  the  contents  of  the  trunk. 

"  Indeed  I  do  remembah  it,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  had  it  on  the  first  time  I  evah  saw  you  — 
travelled  in  it  all  the  way  to  Louisville.  I  was  so 
scandalized  to  see  you  arrive  in  a  sunbonnet,  that 
I  could  scarcely  keep  from  letting  you  know  it." 

"  And  this,"  continued  Betty,  holding  up  an  old- 
fashioned  basket  of  brown  willow  with  two  handles 
and  a  lid  with  double  flaps,  "  this  was  my  travelling 
bag.  My  lunch  was  in  this,  and  my  pass,  and  five 
nickels,  and  the  handkerchief  that  Davy  gave  me, 
with  Red  Ridinghood  and  the  wolf  printed  in  each 
corner.  Here's  that  self-same  handkerchief!"  she 
cried,  lifting  the  lid  to  peep  in. 


l68  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

Scattered  all  around  on  the  rug  at  her  feet  were 
many  articles  to  be  packed  in  the  trunk,  but  for  the 
next  half-hour  the  work  went  slowly.  Each  thing 
that  Lloyd  picked  up  to  hand  to  her  suggested  so 
many  reminiscences  to  them  both  that  they  made 
little  progress.  One  was  a  newspaper,  bearing  the 
date  of  Lloyd's  first  house-party.  It  was  beginning 
to  turn  yellow,  and  Lloyd  scanned  the  columns, 
wondering  why  Betty  had  saved  it.  Then  she 
came  to  a  poem  marked  with  a  blue  pencil,  and 
cried : 

"  Oh,  Betty !  Heah's  yoah  first  published  poem ! 
The  one  called  '  Night.'  How  wondahful  we  all 
thought  it  was  that  you  should  have  something 
printed  in  a  real  papah,  when  you  were  only  twelve. 
Don't  you  remembah,  you  had  the  measles  when 
we  carried  it  in  to  show  it  to  you?  But  yoah  eyes 
were  so  bad  you  couldn't  see,  and  it  was  so  pitiful. 
You  asked  to  feel  it.  I  had  to  guide  yoah  poah 
little  groping  fingah  down  the  page  and  put  it  on 
the  spot.  It  almost  broke  my  heart !  " 

"  I  know,"  answered  Betty.  "  I  thought  that  I 
was  going  to  be  blind  always,  and  that  my  long, 
long  night  had  begun.  And  it  seemed  queer  that 
the  only  thing  I  had  ever  published  should  be  called 
Night.  That  was  a  terrible  experience." 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  1 69 

She  laid  the  paper  carefully  back  into  the  port 
folio  from  which  it  had  slipped,  and  picked  up  the 
next  thing,  a  box  of  typewritten  manuscript. 

"  My  ill-starred  novel  —  my  story  of  Aberdeen 
Hall,"  she  laughed.  "  Don't  you  remember  the 
night  at  the  Lindsey  cabin  when  I  read  it  aloud, 
and  each  one  of  you  girls  made  such  a  solemn  cere 
mony  of  wrapping  it  up?  Gay  furnished  the  box, 
Lucy  the  paper,  and  Kitty  tied  it  with  a  fresh  pink 
ribbon  slipped  out  of  her  nightgown.  And  you  put 
on  the  big  red  sealing  wax  seals." 

"  With  the  handle  of  the  old  silvah  ladle  that  had 
the  Harcourt  family  crest  on  it,"  interrupted  Lloyd 
eagerly.  "  I  can  see  it  now,  a  daggah  thrust 
through  a  crown,  and  the  motto,  *  I  strive  till  I 
ovahcome ! ' 

"  That  was  an  appropriate  motto,"  laughed  Betty. 
"  It  nearly  killed  me  when  the  novel  came  back 
from  the  publisher.  I'd  have  burned  it  on  the  spot 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  grandfather.  But  what 
he  said  encouraged  me  to  put  that  motto  into  prac 
tice.  I'm  glad  now  that  I  didn't  burn  the  manu 
script,  for  I've  lived  to  see  its  many  faults,  and  to 
be  thankful  that  the  publishers  didn't  accept  it.  I'd 
be  heartily  ashamed  now  to  claim  it  as  mine  before 
a  critical  public.  But  it  has  much  that  is  good  in 


170  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

it,  and  I'll  do  it  over  some  day  and  send  it  out  as 
it  ought  to  be.  In  the  meantime  —  " 

She  interrupted  herself  with  a  glad  little  cry. 
"  Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you.  I've  been  so  joyful  think 
ing  that  Jack  is  coming  to-night,  that  I  forgot  I 
hadn't  told  you  my  good  news.  You  know  I've 
been  working  all  winter  on  a  book  of  school-girl 
experiences.  Well,  I  sent  it  to  the  publishers  several 
weeks  ago,  and  I've  just  had  their  answer.  They 
are  so  pleased  with  it  that  they  want  me  to  go  on 
and  make  a  series  of  them.  The  letter  was  lovely. 
I'll  show  it  to  you  when  we  go  down-stairs.  It 
makes  me  feel  as  if  fame  and  fortune  might  be  just 
around  the  corner." 

"Oh,  Betty!"  was  the  breathlessly  joyful  an 
swer.  "  I'm  so  glad!  I'm  so  glad!  I've  always 
told  you  you'd  do  it  some  day.  It's  a  pity  — " 
She  stopped  herself,  then  began  again.  "  I  was  about 
to  say  that  it's  a  pity  you're  going  to  be  married, 
because  you  may  be  so  taken  up  with  yoah  house 
keeping  and  home-making  that  you'll  nevah  have 
time  for  yoah  writing.  But,  on  second  thought,  I 
can't  say  it.  I  know  from  experience  that  having 
Rob  and  a  home  like  mine  are  bettah  than  all  the 
books  that  anybody  could  write." 

"  Jack  will  never  be  a  hindrance  to  authorship," 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  171 

asserted  Betty  positively.  "  He's  already  been  the 
greatest  help.  He's  so  proud  of  everything  I  write, 
and  really  so  helpful  in  his  criticisms  that  he  is  a 
constant  inspiration." 

At  this  mention  of  him  she  reached  forward  and 
began  to  scrabble  things  hastily  into  the  trunk. 

"  Here  I  sit,  dawdling  along  with  this  packing 
as  if  the  morning  were  not  fairly  flying  by,  and 
he'll  be  here  on  the  five  o'clock  train.  There's  so 
much  to  do  I  don't  know  what  to  touch  first." 

Thus  inspired  to  swift  action,  Lloyd  began  to 
help  vigorously,  and  the  pile  of  relics  were  soon  out 
of  sight  under  the  travel-worn  old  lid.  Souvenirs 
of  their  boarding-school  days  at  Lloydsboro  Semi 
nary,  of  Christmas  vacations,  of  happy  friendships 
at  Warwick  Hall,  went  in  in  a  hurry.  Her  old 
tennis  racquet,  a  pennant  that  Rob  had  sent  her 
from  college,  a  kodak  album  of  Keith's  that  they 
had  filled  together  one  happy  summer,  Malcolm's 
riding  whip,  all  in  at  last,  locked  in  and  strapped 
down,  ready  for  their  journey  to  their  new  home. 

Down-stairs  there  was  other  packing  to  do,  but 
Mrs.  Sherman  was  attending  to  that  with  the  as 
sistance  of  Mom  Beck  and  Alec.  All  the  stores  of 
household  linen,  which  was  her  gift  to  her  beloved 
god-daughter,  from  whom  she  was  parting  so  re- 


172 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 


luctantly,  were  carefully  folded  away.  The  chest 
of  silver  from  Papa  Jack,  all  the  collection  of  bric- 
a-brac  and  fancy  work  sent  in  by  many  friends  in 
the  Valley,  Lloyd's  gift,  a  Persian  rug,  and  the  old 
Colonel's,  a  large  box  of  carefully  selected  books, 
had  already  been  shipped  to  Lone-Rock,  to  trans 
form  the  plain  old  living-room  into  a  thing  of 
beauty.  The  etching  which  the  Walton  girls  sent 
would  help  largely  in  that  transforming  process, 
also  the  beautiful  painting  of  beech  trees  which  Mrs. 
Walton  gave,  knowing  that  Betty  loved  the  stately 
old  trees  as  dearly  as  did  she  herself. 

It  was  Betty's  great  regret  that  The  Beeches  was 
closed  at  the  time  and  the  family  all  away,  for  she 
longed  to  have  these  especial  friends  with  her  on 
her  happy  day.  Elise  was  still  in  school  at  Warwick 
Hall,  Mrs.  Walton  visiting  Allison  in  her  beautiful 
Washington  home,  and  Kitty  had  gone  to  San 
Antonio  for  another  visit  with  Gay  Melville  at  the 
post.  The  wedding  was  to  be  so  very  quiet  and 
simple  that  she  could  not  ask  any  of  them  to  come 
so  far  to  be  present,  but  she  wished  for  them  all 
over  and  over. 

Eugenia  would  have  come  had  it  not  been  that 
it  was  too  far  to  bring  little  Patricia  for  such  a 
short  visit,  and  she  was  not  willing  to  leave  her 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  173 

behind.  She  wrote  a  long  letter,  recalling  her  own 
beautiful  wedding,  at  which  Betty  had  been  a 
bridesmaid,  and  added,  "  If  you're  only  half  as 
happy  as  I  am,  Betty,  dear,  you'll  never  regret  for 
an  instant  giving  up  the  grand  career  we  all  prophe 
sied  for  you.  But  in  order  to  remind  you  that 
it  is  still  possible  for  you  '  to  be  famous  though 
married,'  Stuart  and  I  are  sending  you  the  most 
efficient  typewriter  we  can  find  in  the  shops.  It 
has  already  gone  on  to  await  you  in  Lone-Rock." 

Ever  since  the  arrival  of  the  first  gift,  a  little 
silver  vase  from  Miss  Allison  Mclntyre,  which 
would  always  suggest  the  donor's  love  of  flowers 
and  her  garden  which  she  shared  lavishly  with  the 
whole  Valley,  Betty  had  been  in  a  beatific  state  of 
mind  over  the  loving  favor  showed  her  by  her 
friends.  Her  pleasure  reached  high  tide,  however, 
when  the  last  one  arrived,  a  box  marked  from  War 
wick  Hall.  It  was  from  Madam  Chartley.  The  box 
was  so  big  that  they  made  all  sorts  of  wild  guesses 
as  to  its  contents.  Layer  after  layer  of  paper  and 
excelsior  were  lifted  out,  and  all  they  could  find  was 
more  wrappings.  At  last,  from  the  very  centre, 
Alec  lifted  out  a  fragile  cup  and  saucer,  which  Betty 
recognized  with  a  cry  of  astonishment  and  de 
light. 


174  MARY   W 'ARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

"  One  of  the  ancestral  teacups !  I  didn't  suppose 
Madam  would  part  with  one  of  them  for  anybody !  " 

She  turned  the  bit  of  delicate  china  so  that  Mrs. 
Sherman  could  see  the  crest,  and  the  motto,  "  I 
keep  tryste."  The  note  folded  inside  brought  happy 
tears  to  her  eyes,  for  it  said  that  she  was  the  only 
one  to  whom  one  of  these  treasured  heirlooms  had 
been  given.  Madam  felt  deeply  that  a  spiritual 
kinship  existed  between  her  old  ancestor  Edryn  and 
the  little  friend  who  had  kept  tryst  so  faithfully  in 
all  things. 

Jack  came  at  five  o'clock.  He  was  to  be  the  guest 
of  Oaklea,  but  most  of  his  time  was  spent  at  The 
Locusts.  That  night,  when  moonlight  and  spring 
time  filled  the  valley  with  ethereal  whiteness  and 
sweetness,  he  and  Betty  sat  out  on  the  porch.  Three 
generations  of  Romance  made  enchanted  ground  of 
the  whole  place.  In  the  library  an  older  Jack  and 
Elizabeth  sat  recalling  the  night  like  this  when  they 
had  entered  their  Arcady.  Outside,  under  the  arch 
ing  locusts,  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  paced  the 
old  Colonel  in  the  moonlight.  But  not  alone;  for 
every  lilac-laden  breeze  that  stirred  the  branches 
whispered  softly,  "  Amanthis!  Amanthis!" 

Once  Jack  looked  at  Betty,  sitting  beside  him  in 
the  broad  shaft  of  moonlight,  its  glory  streaming 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  175 

across  her  white  dress  and  fair  face  and  said,  "  It's 
like  that  song,  '  Oh,  fair  and  sweet  and  holy,'  out 
here.  Why  couldn't  we  have  the  wedding  on  the 
porch,  where  I  first  saw  you,  instead  of  in  the 
house?  Right  here  in  this  moonlight  that  makes 
you  look  like  a  snowdrop." 

"Would  you  really  like  to  have  it  out  here?" 
asked  Betty,  pleased  by  the  idea  herself  and  pleased 
because  he  suggested  it.  "  It  would  be  a  very  sim 
ple  matter  to  have  it  so,  and  there'll  be  nobody 
critical  enough  among  our  few  guests  to  call  us 
sentimental  if  we  do." 

So  it  came  about  that  the  wedding  next  night 
was  the  simplest  and  most  beautiful  that  any  one 
there  had  ever  witnessed.  Besides  the  two  families, 
Miss  Allison  and  Alex  Shelby  were  the  only  guests ; 
Alex,  because  of  the  part  he  had  played  in  restoring 
Jack  to  health,  and  Miss  Allison,  because  no  occa 
sion  in  the  Valley  seemed  quite  complete  without 
her.  She  had  been  too  closely  bound  up  with  all 
the  good  times  of  Betty's  little  girl  days  and  her 
happy  maidenhood,  not  to  be  present  at  this  time. 

Betty  had  said,  "  I  want  my  last  evening  at  The 
Locusts  to  be  just  like  the  first  one  that  I  ever  spent 
here,  in  one  way.  Then  Lloyd  sang  and  played  on 
her  harp.  I've  missed  it  so  much  since  she  took 


176  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

it  over  to  Oaklea.  I'd  love  to  have  the  memory 
of  her  music  one  of  the  last  that  I  carry  away  with 
me." 

So  that  night,  when  she  stepped  out  on  the  porch 
all  dressed  for  her  bridal,  she  found  the  harp  stand 
ing  in  one  corner,  gleaming  in  the  moonlight  like 
burnished  gold.  Fair  and  tall,  it  impressed  her  as 
it  had  done  when  it  first  struck  her  childish  fancy, 
that  its  strings  had  just  been  swept  by  some  one 
of  the  Shining  Ones  beyond,  who  were  a  part  of 
the  Pilgrim's  dream.  She  was  standing  beside  it 
when  Lloyd  and  Rob  and  Jack  walked  over  from 
Oaklea.  Her  filmy  white  dress,  exquisitely  cloud- 
like  and  dainty,  was  as  simple  and  girlish  as  the 
one  she  had  worn  the  night  before;  but  this  time 
Jack  did  not  compare  her  to  a  snowdrop.  The 
moonlight  gave  such  an  unearthly  whiteness  to  her 
gown,  such  a  radiance  to  her  upturned  face,  that 
he,  too,  thought  of  the  Pilgrim's  dream,  and  likened 
her  to  one  of  the  Shining  Ones  herself. 

With  that  thought  came  the  memory  of  a  be 
loved  voice  as  he  had  heard  it  for  the  last  time  at 
the  end  of  a  perfect  Sabbath,  singing  of  those  "  An 
gels  of  Light,"  that  had  been  so  very  real  to  him 
since  they  first  trailed  comfort  through  his  earliest 
lullabies.  Man  as  he  was,  something  like  a  poignant 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  177 

ache  seemed  to  grip  his  throat  till  he  could  not  speak 
for  a  moment,  because  "  the  little  mother "  was 
having  no  part  in  this,  the  crowning  happiness  of 
his  life. 

Later,  Miss  Allison  and  Alex  dropped  in  as  in 
formally  as  if  they  had  come  to  make  an  ordinary 
evening  call,  and  they  all  sat  talking  awhile.  Then 
Lloyd  took  her  place  at  the  harp  and  sang  the  songs 
that  Betty  loved  best,  till  the  moon  rose  high 
enough  to  send  a  flood  of  silvery  light  between  the 
tall  white  pillars.  There  was  a  little  stir  around 
the  hall  door,  and  Lloyd,  seeing  the  colored  serv 
ants,  who  had  gathered  there  to  listen,  step  back 
respectfully,  gave  a  signalling  nod.  The  old  min 
ister,  who  had  just  arrived  by  the  side  door,  came 
out  past  them. 

Lloyd's  fingers  went  on  touching  the  harp-strings, 
so  softly  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  wandering  breeze 
had  tangled  in  them.  Every  one  rose  as  the  min 
ister  came  out,  and  Jack,  taking  Betty  by  the  hand, 
led  her  directly  to  him.  There  was  no  need  of  book 
to  prompt  the  silver-haired  old  pastor.  He  had 
joined  too  many  lives  in  the  course  of  his  long  min 
istry,  not  to  know  every  word  of  the  solemn  ritual. 

There  in  the  fragrant  stillness  of  the  moon- 
flooded  place,  with  the  odor  of  the  lilacs  and  the 


1 78          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

snowy  wild-plum  blossoms  entrancingly  sweet,  and 
the  melody  dropping  softly  from  the  harp-strings 
like  a  fall  of  far-off  crystal  bells,  they  gave  them 
selves  to  each  other : 

"  I,  John  Alwyn,  take  thee,  Elizabeth  Lloyd." 

"  J,  Elizabeth  Lloyd,  take  thee,  John  Alwyn." 

"  Until  death  us  do  part." 

It  was  all  so  sacred  and  beautiful  and  still,  that 
even  Rob  felt  the  tears  start  to  his  eyes,  and  no 
one  moved  for  a  full  moment  after  the  benediction. 
Even  then  there  was  not  the  usual  buzz  of  con 
gratulations  that  always  follows  such  a  ceremony; 
but  the  tender  embraces  and  heartfelt  hand-clasps 
showed  that  the  spell  of  the  solemn  scene  was  still 
upon  them. 

Suddenly  lights  streamed  out  through  all  the 
windows,  the  dining-room  doors  were  thrown  wide 
open,  and  Alec  bowed  the  party  in  to  the  bridal 
repast.  It,  too,  was  as  simple  as  all  that  had  gone 
before,  save  for  the  towering  cake  in  the  centre. 

"  We  just  had  to  have  that  a  mammoth  and  a 
gorgeous  affair,"  explained  Lloyd,  "  to  send  around 
to  all  Betty's  admiring  friends  and  old  pupils  who 
could  not  be  asked  to  the  ceremony.  We'll  be  busy 
for  a  week  sending  off  the  little  boxes." 

"  No,"  she  replied  later,  to  Alex  Shelby,  "  Betty 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  179 

wouldn't  have  any  of  the  usual  charms  and  frills, 
like  '  something  borrowed,  something  blue/  She 
says  she's  lost  faith  in  them  since  so  many  of  them 
that  she's  known  of  at  different  weddings  have 
failed  to  come  true.  Besides,  everybody  heah  has 
their  fate  already  settled.  We  all  know  about  yoah 
engagement  to  Gay,  even  if  it  hasn't  been  an 
nounced.  You'll  be  the  next  to  go.  You  don't  need 
a  ring  in  a  cake,  or  the  bride's  bouquet  thrown  over 
the  bannistah  to  tell  you  that." 

Later,  when  it  was  time  to  start  to  the  station, 
and  Betty  had  joined  them  again  in  her  travelling 
dress,  the  old  Colonel  looked  out  to  see  what  was 
delaying  the  carriage. 

"  It's  not  coming  at  all,  grandfathah  deah,"  ex 
plained  Lloyd.  "  The  baggage  has  gone  on  ahead 
and  Betty  wants  to  walk.  She  said  she'd  rathah 
go  that  way,  just  as  if  she  were  only  saying  good 
night  to  you  and  mothah  and  Papa  Jack,  and  would 
be  back  in  a  little  while.  She  doesn't  want  it  to 
seem  like  a  long  good-bye.  She  wants  her  last  look 
at  you  all  to  be  heah  at  home." 

But,  in  spite  of  everybody's  efforts  to  make  it 
appear  that  this  was  just  a  casual  going  away,  only 
a  temporary  separation,  Betty  found  the  parting 
almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  She  clung  to  her 


l8o  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

god-mother  a  moment  at  the  last,  wanting  to  sob 
out  all  her  love  and  gratitude  for  the  beautiful 
years  she  was  leaving  behind  her,  but  there  were 
no  words  deep  enough.  Her  last  kiss  was  given  in 
silence  more  eloquent  than  speech.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  steps  she  whisked  away  the  tears  which  would 
gather  despite  her  brave  resolve  to  fight  them  back, 
and  turned  for  one  more  look  at  the  House  Beau 
tiful  before  she  left  it  to  go  farther  on  her  pilgrim 
way. 

There  they  stood,  the  three  who  had  filled  her 
life  so  full,  who  had  taken  the  place  of  father  and 
mother  and  indulgent  grandfather  in  her  life.  She 
smiled  bravely  as  she  gave  them  a  parting  wave 
of  her  hand.  She  could  not  let  tears  dim  her  last 
sight  of  those  dear  faces.  Another  wave  for  Mom 
Beck  and  Alec,  Walker  and  old  Aunt  Cindy,  who 
stood  behind  them  calling  their  blessings  and  good 
wishes  after  her.  Then  she  went  on  with  the 
others. 

The  moonlight  filtered  down  through  the  trees, 
casting  swaying  shadows  on  the  long  white  avenue. 
Rob,  walking  ahead  with  Lloyd,  looked  back  when 
they  came  to  the  "  measuring  tree,"  to  say  to  Miss 
Allison  and  Alex,  who  were  just  behind : 

"  It  doesn't  seem  natural  for  a  crowd  of  this 


BETTY'S   WEDDING  l8l 

size  to  start  out  on  a  night  like  this  in  such  a  quiet 
way.     We  always  used  to  sing.     Strike  up,  Alex!  " 
Instantly  there  was  wafted  back  to  the  watchers 
on  the  porch  the  words  of  a  familiar  old  song: 

"  It  was  from  Aunt  Dinah's  quilting  party 
I  was  seeing  Nellie  home." 

How  many  scores  of  times  had  that  song  echoed 
through  the  valley!  They  had  sung  it  crunching 
through  the  snow  with  their  skates  on  their  shoul 
ders;  they  had  hummed  it  strolling  through  starry 
August  nights  when  the  still  air  was  heavy  with  the 
smell  of  dew-laden  lilies.  Now,  once  more  they 
sang  it,  like  boys  and  girls  together  again,  and  Betty 
wiped  her  eyes  with  a  little  thrill  of  pleasure  when 
Jack's  voice  joined  in  the  chorus.  She  had  never 
heard  him  sing  before  and  she  did  not  know  that  he 
had  such  a  deep,  sweet  voice.  It  pleased  her,  too, 
to  know  that  he  was  familiar  with  the  song  and 
could  join  in  with  the  others  as  readily  as  if  he  had 
always  had  a  part  in  her  happy  past. 

At  the  gate  she  turned  for  one  more  look  at  the 
house,  with  its  lights  streaming  from  every  win 
dow,  and  wondered  when  she  would  ever  see  it 
again. 

"  But  no  matter  how  long  it  may  be,"  she  thought, 
"  I  can  carry  the  cheer  of  those  lights  with  me  al- 


182          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

ways,  wherever  I  go.  It's  been  such  a  happy,  happy 
home." 

When  they  reached  the  station  there  were  only 
a  few  moments  to  wait  for  the  train.  She  stood 
holding  Lloyd's  hand  in  silence  while  the  others 
talked,  until  they  heard  it  rumbling  down  the  track. 
It  was  a  fast  express  that  stopped  only  by  special 
order,  and  then  only  long  enough  to  throw  the 
trunks  on,  so  the  leave-taking  was  over  in  a  rush. 
In  another  instant  she  was  sitting  with  her  face 
pressed  against  the  window  pane,  peering  out  for 
a  last  glimpse  of  the  place.  She  saw  just  one  quickly 
vanishing  light  as  they  sped  by,  and  whispered, 
"  Good-bye,  dear  Valley." 

A  sudden  feeling  of  homesickness  took  posses 
sion  of  her  for  one  long  moment.  Then  Jack's  hand 
closed  over  hers,  holding  it  in  a  warm,  strong  clasp, 
and  she  knew  that  he  understood  just  what  that 
parting  meant  to  her.  Instantly  there  sprang  up 
in  her  heart  the  knowledge  that  all  she  had  left  be 
hind  was  as  nothing  to  the  love  and  sympathy  that 
was  to  enfold  her  henceforth. 


CHAPTER    II 

TOWARDS   THE    CANAAN    OF   HER   DESIRE 

IN  Phil  Tremont's  office  desk,  in  an  inner  drawer 
reserved  for  private  papers,  lay  a  package  of  letters 
fastened  together  by  a  broad  rubber  band.  "  From 
the  Little  Vicar,"  it  was  labelled,  and  Mary's  as 
tonishment  would  have  been  great,  could  she  have 
known  that  every  letter  she  had  ever  written  him 
was  thus  preserved.  He  had  kept  the  first  ones, 
written  in  a  childish,  painstaking  hand,  because  they 
chronicled  the  doings  of  the  family  at  Ware's  Wig 
wam  in  such  an  amusing  and  characteristic  way. 
The  letters  after  that  time  had  been  few  and  far 
between  until  her  final  return  to  Lone-Rock,  but 
each  one  had  been  kept  for  some  different  reason. 
It  had  contained  a  particularly  laughable  descrip 
tion  of  some  of  her  Warwick  Hall  escapades,  or 
some  original  view  of  life  and  the  world  in  general 
which  made  it  worth  preserving. 

Then  when  Mrs.  Ware's  letters  ceased,  and  at 
Phil's  urgent  request  Mary  took  up  her  mother's 

183 


184  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

custom  of  writing  regularly  to  him,  he  kept  them 
because  they  revealed  so  much  of  herself.  So  brave, 
so  womanly,  so  strong  she  had  grown,  bearing  her 
great  sorrow  as  the  Jester  did  his  hidden  sword, 
to  prove  that  "  undaunted  courage  was  the  jewel  of 
her  soul."  All  during  the  lonely  summer  after  her 
mother's  death  he  expected  to  go  to  see  her  in  the 
fall,  but  the  work  which  held  him  in  Mexico  was 
not  finished,  and  too  much  depended  upon  its  suc 
cessful  completion  for  him  to  ask  for  leave  of  ab 
sence. 

Then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  start  back  to  the 
States,  his  chief  was  taken  ill,  and  asked  him  to 
stay  and  fill  his  place  in  another  engineering  enter 
prise  which  he  had  made  a  contract  for.  It  was 
an  opportunity  too  big  for  Phil  to  thrust  aside,  even 
if  his  sense  of  obligation  had  not  been  so  great  to 
the  man  who  had  helped  make  him  what  he  was. 
So  he  consented  to  stay  on  another  year.  The  place 
to  which  he  was  sent,  where  the  great  new  dam 
was  to  be  constructed,  was  further  in  the  interior. 
His  papers,  brought  over  on  mule  back,  were  a  week 
old  when  they  reached  him,  and  Mary's  letters  at 
tained  an  importance  they  might  not  have  had 
otherwise,  had  he  been  in  a  less  lonely  region. 

It  was  with  great  satisfaction  that  he  heard  of 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE    185 

Jack's  marriage.  He  felt  that  Mary  would  be  more 
satisfied  to  stay  on  in  Lone-Rock  indefinitely  now 
that  she  had  Betty's  companionship.  Her  letters 
were  enthusiastic  about  the  new  sister,  whom  she 
had  long  loved,  first  with  the  admiration  of  a  little 
girl  for  an  older  one,  then  with  that  of  a  pupil  for 
an  adored  teacher.  Now  they  seemed  of  the  same 
age,  and  of  the  same  mind  about  essential  things, 
especially  the  pedestal  on  which  they  both  placed 
Jack. 

Betty  fitted  into  the  family  as  beautifully  as  if  she 
had  always  been  a  part  of  it,  Mary  wrote  soon  after 
her  arrival.  She  loved  Lone-Rock  the  moment  she 
laid  eyes  on  it,  and  made  friends  with  everybody 
right  away.  She  thought  it  an  ideal  place  in  which 
to  write,  and  already  was  at  work  on  the  series 
which  the  publishers  had  asked  for.  Norman  was 
"  simply  crazy  "  about  her,  and  Jack  was  so  happy 
and  proud  that  it  did  one's  heart  good  to  see  him. 

As  for  Mary  herself,  it  was  easy  for  Phil  to  see 
the  vast  difference  that  Betty's  coming  had  made 
in  her  life.  He  laid  these  letters  aside  with  the  oth 
ers  as  they  came,  thankful  for  the  happy  spirit  that 
breathed  through  them,  for  now  he  was  convinced 
that  she  "  really  felt  the  gladness  she  had  only 
feigned  before."  She  was  all  aglow  once  more  with 


186  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

her  old  hopes  and  ambitions.  Despite  her  efforts 
to  hide  it  he  had  discerned  how  dreary  the  days  had 
been  for  her  hitherto,  and  now  he  was  glad  he 
could  think  of  her  with  the  background  she  pic 
tured  for  him.  Betty's  coming  had  brightened  it 
wonderfully.  But  just  as  he  was  beginning  to  be 
sure  she  was  satisfied  and  settled,  a  little  note  came 
to  disturb  his  comfort  in  that  belief.  It  was  evi 
dently  scrawled  in  haste  and  began  abruptly  with 
out  address  or  date. 

" '  And  it  came  to  pass  .  .  .  when  the  cloud  was 
taken  up  .  .  .  they  journeyed! '  Oh,  Phil,  the  sig 
nal  to  move  on  has  come  at  last!  I  have  no  idea 
what  it  will  lead  to.  It  may  be  to  the  wells  of  some 
Elim,  it  may  be  to  that  part  of  the  wilderness 
'  where  there  is  no  water  to  drink.'  But  wherever 
it  may  be  I'm  convinced  that  Providence  is  pointing 
the  way,  for  the  call  came  without  my  lifting  so 
much  as  a  little  finger.  It  came  through  Madam 
Chartley.  I'm  to  be  secretary  for  a  friend  of  hers, 
a  Mrs.  Dudley  Blythe  of  Riverville,  at  a  big  salary 
—  at  least  it  seems  big  to  me  —  and  I'm  leaving  in 
the  morning.  That's  all  I  know  now,  but  I'll  write 
you  full  particulars  as  soon  as  I'm  settled. 

"  Manuella,  the  clever  little  Mexican  maid  who 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE     187 

has  tided  us  over  various  emergencies,  is  coming1 
to  help  Betty  with  the  work,  so  that  the  writing  may 
not  be  interfered  with.  Yours,  once  more  on  the 
march  towards  the  Canaan  of  her  desire, 

"  M.  W." 

The  next  was  a  note  scribbled  at  some  junction 
near  the  end  of  her  journey. 

"  Five  hours  late,  so  we've  missed  connection  and 
are  side-tracked  here,  waiting  for  the  fast  express 
to  pass  us.  Nothing  at  all  has  happened  as  there 
usually  does  on  my  travels,  and  I've  met  no  inter 
esting  people.  But  I've  had  a  really  thrilling  time 
just  guessing  what  my  future  is  to  be  like.  I've 
imagined  Mrs.  Dudley  Blythe  to  be  every  kind  of 
a  woman  that  would  be  likely  to  employ  a  secretary, 
from  a  stern-eyed  suffragette  to  a  modern  Mrs.  Jel- 
lyby  interested  in  the  heathen.  All  I've  had  to  build 
on  was  Madam  Chartley's  night  letter  and  Mrs. 
Blythe's  telegram  in  answer  to  mine,  and  naturally 
that  was  slim  material. 

"  What  I'm  hoping  is,  that  Mrs.  Blythe  is  a  grand 
society  dame,  who  needs  a  secretary  to  attend  to  her 
invitations  and  list  of  engagements.  I'd  like  for 
her  to  be  that,  or  else  a  successful  writer  who 


1 88  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

wanted  me  to  type  her  manuscript.  It  would  be 
so  lovely  to  be  behind  the  scenes  at  the  making  of 
a  book,  and  maybe  to  meet  a  lot  of  literary  lions  at 
close  range.  I've  blocked  out  enough  scenes  from 
those  two  situations  to  fill  a  two-volume  Duchess 
novel  But,  in  order  to  keep  from  being  too  greatly 
disappointed,  I  tell  myself  that  it's  not  at  all  prob 
able  that  Mrs.  Blythe  will  be  either  of  those  things. 
Most  likely  she's  in  a  big  mail-order  business  of 
some  kind  that  requires  a  large  correspondence,  and 
I'll  be  tamely  quoting  prices  on  hats,  hair-goods  or 
imported  trimmings  for  the  next  dozen  years.  I 
am  'minded  that : 

"  '  There  are  two  moments  in  a  diver's  life. 
One  when,  a  beggar,  he  prepares  to  plunge, 
One  when,  a  prince,  he  rises  with  his  pearl. 
Festus,  I  plunge!  ' 

"  More  anon.  MARY." 

"June  15,  RIVERVILLE. 

"  Here  I  am,  bobbing  up  serenely  with  some 
thing,  but  still  unable  to  say  whether  it  be  pearl  or 
pebble.  Mrs.  Blythe  is  not  the  grand  personage  I 
pictured  her  to  be,  for  there  was  no  liveried  foot 
man  to  meet  me  at  the  station,  no  carriage  in  wait 
ing.  Nor  is  she  an  author.  Mrs.  Crum,  the  land 
lady  of  this  caravansary,  told  me  that.  I  rattled 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE     189 

up  in  a  'bus  to  the  number  of  the  house  given  in 
Mrs.  Blythe's  telegram,  and  found  it  to  be  a  com 
fortable  looking  boarding-house  on  a  quieit  side 
street,  shaded  by  scraggly  old  sycamores.  Mrs. 
Ely  the  had  engaged  a  room  for  me  here,  and  left 
a  note  telling  me  where  and  how  to  find  heir  in  the 
morning. 

"  It  was  so  near  supper-time  that  Mrs.  Crum  had 
to  go  right  down-stairs  before  I  could  ask  any  more 
questions,  and  I  followed  in  a  very  few  moments. 
I  am  disappointed  in  one  thing.  I  had  hoped  to  be 
in  an  interesting  private  family.  I  had  hoped  that 
Mrs.  Blythe  would  want  me  to  stay  in  her  house, 
but  I  think  I  shall  like  it  here. 

"  My  room  is  big  and  airy  and  simply  furnished, 
the  supper  was  good,  and  as  far  as  I  can  see  I'm 
lots  better  off  than  Jo  was  in  '  Little  Women,'  when 
she  left  home  to  be  a  governess.  For  one  thing, 
there  is  no  old  bearded  professor  in  the  background 
to  work  on  one's  sympathies  and  get  interested  in, 
in  lieu  of  some  one  better.  Of  course  Professor 
Baher  was  dear  in  lots  of  ways,  but  I  never  could 
forgive  Jo  for  marrying  that  bewhiskered  old  Tue- 
ton. 

"  So  far  as  I  have  discovered,  the  boarders  are 
all  widows  and  orphans,  though  the  oldest  orphan  is 


190          MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

old  enough  to  vote,  and  is  a  reporter  on  the  River- 
ville  Herald.  He  sat  next  to  me  at  the  table,  at 
supper,  and  I  found  out  from  him  that  my  first 
guess  was  partly  correct,  even  if  there  was  no  liv 
eried  footman  to  meet  me  at  the  station.  Mrs. 
Blythe  is  one  of  the  social  leaders  of  Riverville  and 
has  a  lovely  home.  But  this  city  isn't  large  enough 
to  justify  any  one's  keeping  a  social  secretary.  He 
said  so.  It's  just  a  big,  commonplace,  hustling  man 
ufacturing  town  like  a  hundred  others  in  the  middle 
West.  I  didn't  like  to  ask  any  personal  questions 
about  Mrs.  Blythe  of  Orphant  Annie.  (That's  the 
name  I  couldn't  help  giving  the  young  reporter  in 
my  own  mind.  He  was  introduced  as  Mr.  Sand- 
ford  Berry.)  He  looks  the  character  to  perfection; 
sort  of  old  for  his  years,  spry  and  capable,  as  if  he'd 
spent  his  youth  in  doing  the  chores  and  shooing  the 
hens  away.  Besides,  he  gave  me  a  lot  of  wise  ad 
vice,  as  if  he  were  a  full-fledged  man  of  the  world 
and  I  a  little  hayseed  from  the  West  who  didn't 
know  enough  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  a  go-cart. 
He  has  pale  blue  pop  eyes,  and  an  alert  little  blond 
mustache,  and  his  whole  air  seems  to  say,  *  The 
gobelins'll  git  you,  if  you  don't  watch  out.' 

"  He  took  it  for  granted  that  I  knew  all  about 
my  future  employer,  and,  of  course,  I  didn't  tell 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE     191 

him  any  better.  I  just  tried  in  a  roundabout  way 
to  lead  him  on  to  talk  of  her.  He  is  very  enthusi 
astic  about  her  work,  though  I  gathered  only  a 
vague  idea  of  what  it  is,  despite  my  clever  manoeu 
vring  to  find  out.  He  called  her  a  grand  little 
woman.  As  he  has  interviewed  her  several  times 
he  knows  her  personally.  What  he  said  was  cer 
tainly  encouraging,  but  he  finished  his  supper  so 
soon  after  he  began  to  talk  about  her  that  I  came 
up-stairs  still  knowing  very  little  more  than  when 
I  went  down. 

"  A  street  light  glimmered  in  the  front  windows, 
so  that  I  did  not  turn  on  the  gas  at  first,  but  sat 
looking  down  at  the  people  strolling  along  the  paveh 
ment  below.  The  house  stands  very  close  to  the 
street,  so  that  I  could  hear  everything  any  one  said 
in  passing,  and  it  seemed  to  bring  me  right  into  the 
thick  of  things,  as  I  so  often  wished  to  be,  back 
there  in  the  desert.  The  warm,  wet  smell  of  the 
freshly  sprinkkd  streets,  the  whiff  of  an  occasional 
cigar,  the  sound  of  a  street  piano  in  the  next  block, 
all  seemed  so  strange  yet  so  friendly  and  sociable. 
It  made  me  feel  for  a  little  while  —  oh,  I  can  hardly 
explain  it  —  as  if  the  old  Mary  Ware  that  I  used 
to  be  was  a  million  miles  away,  and  as  if  the  Mary 
Ware  sitting  here  in  Riverville  was  an  entirely  dif- 


IQ2  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

ferent  person.  I  couldn't  make  it  seem  possible  that 
the  '  me '  who  was  sitting  therei  in  the  hot  June 
dusk,  looking  down  on  the  lively  streets,  was  the 
same  person  who  only  a  few  days  before  had  no 
other  excitement  in  life  than  making  Jack's  coffee 
or  ironing  Norman's  shirts  back  in  the  hills  of 
Arizona. 

"  I  wasn't  homesick  or  lonesome  in  the  least, 
but  I  had  such  a  queer,  untied,  set-adrift  sensation, 
like  the  man  must  have  had  who  wrote  that  hymn, 
'  Lo,  on  a  narrow  neck  of  land,  'Twixt  two  un 
bounded  seas  I  stand.'  The  yesterdays  are  one  sea, 
and  the  to-morrows  another,  and  me,  waiting  be 
tween  them,  just  a  scrap  of  humanity  —  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  city  —  wondering  and  wondering  and 
wondering  what  the  next  day  would  bring. 

"  Then  I  began  to  be  almost  afraid  of  what  I'd 
undertaken,  and  all  of  a  sudden  grew  so  cold  and 
depressed  that  I  wished  I  was  back  in  my  own  little 
room  in  Lone-Rock.  The  shutters  of  the  back 
window  had  been  closed  all  this  time,  and  when  I 
got  up  to  light  the  gas  and  write  to  Jack  of  my 
safe  arrival,  I  opened  them  to  see  what  kind  of  an 
outlook  I  was  to  have  from  that  window.  You  can 
imagine  my  surprise  when  I  found  that  it  gave  me 
a  glimpse  of  the  river.  Such  a  wide,  full,  sweeping 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE     193 

river,  with  just  enough  of  a  young  moon  over  it 
to  define  its  banks,  and  remind  me  of  the  beautiful 
silvery  Potomac  that  I  used  to  watch  from  my 
window  at  Warwick  Hall. 

"  A  big  steamboat  came  gliding  around  the  bend, 
with  a  deep  musical  whistle  that  sent  the  same  kind 
of  an  echo  booming  along  the  water,  and  there  were 
lights  twinkling  from  every  deck  and  from  the 
wharves  along  shore  to  which  it  was  headed.  Some 
how  it  made  me  think  of  a  song  that  we  used  to  sing 
at  the  Wigwam,  and  that  Holland  always  sang 
wrong,  for  some  unaccountable  reason  insisting  on 
saying  *  shining  '  instead  of  *  margin.' 

" '  At  the  shining  of  the  river,  lay  we  every  burden  down.' 

"  The  wide  silvery  tracks  that  the  crescent  moon 
and  the  wharf  lights  made  reassured  me,  and  I 
stopped  worrying  about  the  future,  and  laid  my 
burden  of  apprehension  and  depression  right  down, 
and  just  sat  and  enjoyed  the  sight.  Presently  I 
saw  a  little  launch  put  out  from  the  wharf  and  go 
chugging  merrily  over  towards  the  far  side,  and 
suddenly  I  realized  that  that  other  shore  was  Ken 
tucky.  I  was  in  sight  of  my  Promised  Land,  al 
though  my  particular  portion  of  it  was  several  hun 
dred  miles  away.  I  had  been  so  occupied  with  other 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

things  that  I  had  forgotten  what  part  of  the  map  I 
was  on. 

"  I  stood  right  up,  so  excited  that  I  could  hardly 
keep  from  squealing  and  whirling  around  on  my 
toes,  as  I  used  to  do.  My  first  impulse  was  to  run 
and  tell  somebody  of  my  discovery.  Then  I  remem 
bered  with  a  sort  of  shock  that  there  wasn't  any 
body  I  could  tell.  Not  a  soul  in  the  whole  city  who 
cared.  For  a  moment  that  thought  made  me  ut 
terly  and  wretchedly  homesick.  But  it  all  passed 
away  the  moment  I  began  my  letter  to  Jack  and 
Betty.  I  think  the  reason  that  this  epistle  to  you  has 
grown  longer  and  more  garrulous  than  usual,  is 
because  you  have  assured  me  so  often  of  your  in 
terest  in  all  my  comings  and  goings,  and  it  seems 
so  good  to  pour  out  everything  to  somebody  who 
cares  to  hear.  So,  I  am  sure,  you  will  rejoice  with 
me  in  the  discovery  that  my  back  window  looks 
away  to  the  dim  shores  of  my  Promised  Land,  and 
that  that  view  will  help  me  '  to  hold  out  faithful  to 
the  end,'  as  old  Brother  Petree  used  to  say  in  prayer 
meeting." 

"  June  22. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  write  so  soon  again,  but  your 
letter  has  just  come  with  all  those  kodak  pictures 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE    195 

of  your  bachelor  quarters,  and  the  big  dam,  and 
the  different  views  of  your  mountain  background. 
I  am  so  glad  to  have  them,  especially  the  ones  that 
have  you  in  them,  and  most  especially  that  one  of 
you  in  the  camp  chair  with  the  hat  on  the  back  of 
your  head.  You  look  exactly  as  if  you  were  about 
to  speak,  and  I  have  stood  that  one  on  my  table, 
and  am  looking  at  it  now  as  I  write.  I  am  glad 
you  sent  it,  for  really  I  am  becoming  so  engrossed 
with  my  new  work,  that  I  need  some  reminder  of 
my  past  life  to  keep  me  from  forgetting  what  man 
ner  of  person  I  used  to  be.  I  have  had  such  an 
absorbing  week. 

"  To  begin  with,  I  found  that  Mrs.  Blythe,  who 
is  comparatively  a  young  woman,  although  she  has 
two  sons  away  at  school,  is  one  of  the  old  Warwick 
Hall  girls.  She  wears  the  alumni  pin,  with  Edryn's 
crest  on  it  and  the  motto  '  I  keep  tryste.'  And  she 
adores  Madam  Chartley  and  everything  connected 
with  the  school.  After  I  discovered  that  I  knew 
everything  would  be  all  right  no  matter  what  she 
set  me  to  doing. 

"  She  had  a  dressmaker  there  fitting  a  gown  for 
her,  when  I  was  ushered  into  her  room,  and  there 
wasn't  a  thing  in  it  to  suggest  her  need  of  a  sec 
retary  except  a  frivolous  looking  little  desk  in  one 


196  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

corner.  She  talked  to  me  about  Warwick  Hall  all 
the  time  she  was  being  fitted  until  a  neighbor 
dropped  in  to  ask  her  to  pour  tea  for  her  at  an 
informal  reception  next  day.  I  '  sized  her  up,'  as 
the  boys  say,  as  a  pretty  little  woman  fond  of  dainty 
clothes  and  good  times,  one  who  would  always  shine 
at  a  social  function  and  be  popular  because  she  is 
such  a  winsome,  sweet  little  thing,  but  not  much 
more  than  that. 

"  When  the  dressmaker  left,  Mrs.  Blythe  crossed 
over  to  the  desk  and  opened  it,  and  it  was  so  chuck 
full  of  papers  and  letters  and  business-like  looking 
legal  documents,  that  they  began  to  pour  out  all 
over  the  floor. 

"  She  said  in  a  laughing  way  that  that  was  the 
reason  she  needed  another  pair  of  hands,  and  then 
turned  and  gave  me  a  searching  look  with  those 
dark  eyes  of  her,  as  if  she  were  taking  my  measure, 
and  said : 

"  '  I  hope  that  Madam  Chartley  was  not  mistaken 
and  that  you  will  prove  equal  to  the  task,  for  it  is 
a  big  undertaking  I've  called  you  to  help  me  with  — 
The  awakening  of  a  State! ' 

"  I  was  as  astonished  as  if  a  fluffy  little  kitten 
had  opened  its  mouth,  and  instead  of  gently  mew 
ing,  had  roared  out, '  Cry  havoc  and  let  slip  the  dogs 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE     197 

of  war ! '  Luckily  she  was  so  busy  sorting  the 
papers  and  stuffing  them  back  into  pigeon-holes  that 
she  didn't  see  my  face,  or  she  couldn't  have  gone 
on  in  such  a  matter  of  course  way  to  explain  what 
she  wanted  me  to  do.  She  said  I  must  become  so 
thoroughly  familiar  with  the  situation  that  I  could 
answer  most  of  the  letters  that  come  to  her,  without 
her  dictation,  and  in  order  to  do  that  she'd  have 
to  take  me  over  the  ground  that  she  had  been  over, 
and  let  me  see  for  myself  just  what  had  aroused 
her  to  undertake  the  work  she  was  engaged  in. 
That  just  as  soon  as  she  could  give  the  cook  her 
daily  orders  we'd  start  right  out. 

"  While  she  put  on  her  hat  and  little  face  veil, 
she  explained  that  she  had  become  interested  in  the 
first  place  while  taking  flowers  to  a  crippled  child 
in  the  tenement  district.  Seeing  how  absorbed  she 
seemed  in  getting  her  hat  and  veil  on  '  just  so,'  I 
couldn't  help  thinking  that  she  must  have  taken  up 
her  charities  as  so  many  society  women  do,  who 
are  impulsive  and  kind-hearted,  just  as  a  fad  to 
help  occupy  their  leisure  hours.  But  it  wasn't  long 
before  I  found  how  mistaken  I  was  in  my  judgment 
of  her. 

"  We  took  a  street-car,  and  on  the  way  she  ex 
plained  that  she  was  going  to  show  me  what  might 


198          MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

be  seen  in  almost  any  town  of  its  size  in  the  United 
States,  and  in  many  of  its  villages.  We  stopped 
on  a  shady  street  corner  and  passed  a  row  of  houses 
on  a  respectable  looking  street.  She  told  me  that 
she  had  grown  up  in  Riverville  and  had  walked  up 
and  down  that  street  nearly  every  day  of  her  life, 
and  that  she  never  knew  till  last  year  that  those 
respectable  fronts  of  houses  opened  on  to  interiors 
and  into  back  yards  that  were  a  disgrace  to  any 
civilization.  The  other  property  owners  on  that 
block  were  perfectly  horrified  when  she  published  a 
description  of  it,  with  photographs  of  the  worst 
spots.  It  stirred  up  a  great  deal  of  talk  and  indig 
nation,  but  nobody  did  anything  to  make  it  better, 
and  soon  the  interest  died  out  and  people  forgot. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her  face  when  she 
told  me  that  and  when  she  said,  'But  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  would  change  conditions  if  I  had  to 
fight  a  lifetime  and  fight  single-handed,  and  I'll 
fight  to  the  death! ' 

"  When  I  saw  the  determination  in  her  face,  not 
only  did  I  wonder  how  I  could  have  been  so  mis 
taken  in  my  first  estimate  of  her,  but  I  felt  a  queer 
responsive  thrill  at  her  enthusiasm,  that  made  me 
sure  she  can  succeed  in  anything  she  attempts. 

"  Well,  I've  read  of  slums  and  have  always  taken 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE    199 

it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  it  was  one  of  the  evils 
to  be  expected  in  a  large  city,  -but  I  never  thought 
to  see  with  my  own  eyes  what  I  saw  that  day,  in 
an  ordinary  town  like  Riverville.  Maybe  living  so 
long  as  I  have  done  on  the  clean,  fresh  desert  and 
in  the  pure  air  of  the  hills,  made  it  seem  worse  to 
me,  but  anybody  would  have  been  horrified  at  what 
she  showed  me.  When  I  exclaimed  over  the  filth 
and  foul  odors,  as  we  picked  our  way  over  the  ash- 
piles  and  garbage  and  slimy  pools  in  one  back  yard, 
and  said  that  people  might  at  least  keep  themselves 
clean,  even  if  they  were  poor,  she  turned  on  me, 
her  eyes  fairly  blazing. 

"  *  That's  what  everybody  says ! '  she  exclaimed. 
'  That's  why  I  brought  you  here,  to  prove  to  you 
that  these  tenants  are  not  to  blame.  Look!  This 
house  was  originally  built  for  two  families,  but  ten 
families  are  crowded  into  it  now,  with  only  one 
cistern  to  provide  water  for  the  whole  lot.  And 
every  drop  of  it  has  to  be  carried  to  the  different 
stories  in  buckets.  No  wonder  they  have  to  be 
"  sparin'  of  water,"  as  little  Elsie  Whayne  com 
plained,  when  I  found  her  crying  over  her  line  full 
of  yellow-gray,  half-clean  clothes.  She  had  come 
from  the  country,  where  she  had  had  an  unlimited 
supply,  and  couldn't  get  used  to  hoarding  every 


200  MARY   W 'ARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

drop.     The  landlord  won't  provide  city  water,  and 
there  is  no  law  to  make  him  do  it.' 

"  As  she  spoke  the  nasty,  greasy  contents  of  a 
dishpan  came  splashing  over  the  railing  of  the  porch 
above  us,  into  the  court  where  we  were  standing, 
and  we  barely  escaped  being  drenched  with  it.  A 
few  drops  did  reach  me,  and  when  I  expressed  my 
disgust  most  forcibly,  Mrs.  Blythe  said  apologet 
ically,  '  Don't  blame  the  poor  woman.  She  has  no 
other  place  to  throw  it.  The  landlord  won't  pro 
vide  drains  and  there  is  no  law  to  make  him  do  it. 
And  up-stairs,  I  am  going  to  show  you  three  rooms 
without  windows,  where  people  live  and  eat  and 
sleep  by  lamplight,  without  a  ray  of  sunshine  or 
a  breath  of  fresh  air.  All  that  they  get  of  either 
air  or  light  must  filter  through  other  stale,  over 
crowded  rooms.  And  if  you  wonder,  as  I  did,  why 
the  landlords  do  not  cut  windows  in  these  dark 
rooms,  and  mend  the  leaky  roofs  and  the  dangerous 
stairways,  you'll  find  the  answer  is  the  same.  There 
is  no  law  to  make  them  do  it.  The  houses  bring 
good  rents  as  they  stand,  and  the  public  is  not  awake 
to  the  fact  that  these  places  in  their  midst  are  re 
sponsible  for  the  greater  part  of  infection  and  dis 
ease  that  menace  the  whole  town.  That  is  the  cause 
I  am  giving  myself  to,  and  the  cause  that  I  want 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE    2OI 

to  make  yours  also.  We  must  wake  up  the  State. 
We  must  make  them  pass  a  law  that  will  wipe  out 
these  plague  spots  already  existing  and  prevent  the 
growth  of  any  more.  A  law  that  will  allow  no 
renter  to  make  money  off  a  house  that  is  not  decent 
to  shelter  human  beings.' 

"  That  is  a  sample  of  the  places  she  showed  me, 
places  where  the  plaster  was  off  the  walls  in  great 
patches,  and  the  paper  hung  in  greasy  tatters,  and 
where  we  encountered  so  many  nauseating  sights 
and  smells  that  by  the  time  we  were  back  at  her 
house  I  didn't  have  any  appetite  for  lunch.  She 
told  me  that  it  affected  her  that  way  too,  at  first, 
and  it  got  so  that  a  procession  of  white-faced,  wail 
ing  babies  began  to  appear  to  her  in  the  dead  of 
night  and  cry  for  her  to  help  them;  to  give  them 
a  chance  to  breathe  in  the  stifling  midnight,  a 
chance  to  claim  their  birthright  of  clean  water  and 
air  and  sun.  And  she  added,  '  When  you  get  to 
seeing  things  at  night  you're  ready  for  work.' 

"  Already  she  has  written  hundreds  of  letters  on 
the  subject,  to  individuals  and  to  clubs  who  have 
influence,  and  I  am  to  help  her  with  hundreds  more. 
We  are  to  send  one  to  each  member  of  the  Legis 
lature.  I  think  it  is  great  fun  to  be  mixed  up  with 
'  affairs  of  State,'  and  I  shall  feel  so  grand  having 


202  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

a  hand  in  writing  to  senators  and  representatives. 
'I'm  going  with  her  to  some  of  the  near-by  towns 
to  take  photographs  of  the  worst  places.  We're  to 
have  a  collection  representing  every  town  and  city 
in  the  State,  and  mount  them  on  large  posters  for 
the  public  to  see.  That  part  of  the  work  will  be 
intensely  interesting.  I  don't  mind  pounding  away 
at  the  typewriter  from  daylight  till  dark,  but  I  must 
confess  to  you  what  I'll  not  tell  any  one  at  home. 
The  other  part  of  the  work,  the  contact  with  the 
suffering  and  misery  and  dirt  that  we  see  daily 
simply  makes  me  sick. 

"  I  asked  Orphant  Annie  how  he  supposed  a 
dainty  little  woman  like  Mrs.  Blythe  stands  it,  and 
he  said  she  had  answered  that  question  herself  in 
a  poem  that  she  had  written  by  request  for  the 
Riverville  Herald.  I  was  so  surprised  to  know  that 
she  is  a  poet  too,  that  he  said  he'd  look  up  the  verses 
for  me.  He  did,  and  brought  me  a  copy  of  them 
when  he  came  that  night  at  dinner.  He  doesn't 
seem  as  pop-eyed  now  that  I  know  him  better,  and 
he  says  some  very  bright  things  occasionally.  This 
is  the  poem.  I  am  sending  it  so  that  you'll  see  how 
mistaken  I  was  at  first  in  assuming  that  Mrs.  Blythe 
was  just  a  kind-hearted  little  social  butterfly,  who 
had  taken  up  housing  betterment  as  a  fad.  Some 


TOWARDS  THE  CANAAN  OF  HER  DESIRE    203 

of  the  divine  fire  that  inspired  the  great  reformers 
of  all  the  ages  must  burn  in  her  soul,  or  she  couldn't 
have  written  this  poem  that  she  calls  The  Torch. 

"  '  Make  me  to  be  a  torch  for  feet  that  grope 
Down  Truth's  dim  trail;  to  bear  for  wistful  eyes 
Comfort  of  light;  to  bid  great  beacons  blaze, 
And  kindle  altar  fires  of  sacrifice! 

"  '  Let  me  set  souls  aflame  with  quenchless  zeal 
For  great  endeavors,  causes  true  and  high. 
So  would  I  live  to  quicken  and  inspire, 
So  would  I,  thus  consumed,  burn  out  and  die.' 

"  Mr.  Berry  says  that  is  just  what  Mrs.  Blythe 
is,  a  torch  to  set  others  aflame.  He  has  heard  her 
talk  to  clubs  and  societies  about  her  work,  and  he 
says  that  she  is  so  convincing  that  before  the  sum 
mer  is  over  she'll  have  me  blazing  like  a  house  afire, 
the  biggest  beacon  in  the  bunch.  But  I  don't  think 
much  of  Orphant  Annie  as  a  prophet.  It  is  just 
one  of  his  ways  of  always  saying  the  gobelins'll  git 
you.  I  know  they'll  never  get  me  to  the  extent  of 
making  me  '  speak  in  meetinV  Now  you  know 
just  what  it  is  I  have  gone  into,  and  can  picture  the 
daily  life  quite  accurately  of  Yours  as  ever,  Mary 
Ware,  late  of  Lone-Rock,  now  Reformer  of  River- 
ville." 


CHAPTER    III 

THE   SUPREME    CALL 

THAT  was  the  last  letter  which  Phil  received 
from  Mary  for  many  weeks,  although  he  wrote  reg 
ularly  to  the  address  she  gave  of  the  boarding-house 
on  the  sycamore-shaded  street.  Several  times  she 
sent  a  postal  with  a  scribbled  line  of  acknowledg 
ment,  but  the  days  were  too  full  for  personal  affairs, 
and  at  night  she  was  too  tired  to  attend  to  her  own 
correspondence,  after  pounding  on  the  typewriter  so 
many  hours. 

She  had  attacked  her  new  duties  with  all  the  zeal 
and  force  that  had  characterized  her  "  snake-kill 
ings  "  on  the  desert.  Habit  alone  made  her  do 
that,  and  pride  added  another  motive.  She  was 
determined  to  justify  Madam  Chartley's  opinion  of 
her.  Not  being  able  to  write  shorthand  she  worked 
overtime  to  gain  extra  speed  on  the  typewriter,  so 
that  she  might  take  dictation  directly  on  the  ma 
chine.  Now,  all  the  neatness  and  system  which 
had  made  her  housekeeping  so  perfect  in  its  way, 

204 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  205 

made  her  a  painstaking  and  methodical  little  busi 
ness  woman.  Her  neatly  typed  pages  were  a  joy 
to  Mrs.  Blythe.  Her  system  of  filing  and  indexing 
brought  order  out  of  confusion  in  the  topsy-turvy 
desk,  and  she  soon  had  the  various  reports  which 
they  referred  to  daily,  labelled  and  arranged  in  the 
different  pigeon-holes  as  conveniently  as  the  spice 
boxes  and  cereal  jars  had  been  in  the  kitchen  cab 
inet  at  home. 

It  was  not  long  before  Mrs.  Blythe  began  hand 
ing  letters  over  to  her  as  Jack  had  done,  saying 
briefly,  tell  them  this  or  thus,  and  leaving  her  to 
frame  the  answer  in  the  best  style  she  could.  This 
spurred  her  on  to  still  greater  effort,  and  she  made 
up  her  mind  to  become  so  familiar  with  every 
branch  of  the  subject  that  she  could  give  an  intel 
ligent  answer  to  any  question  that  might  be  asked. 
Once  she  wrote  home  to  Jack : 

"  I  am  beginning  to  see  now  some  of  the  things 
that  my  Desert  of  Waiting  in  Lone-Rock  taught 
me.  I  couldn't  fill  this  position  half  so  satisfac 
torily  if  I  hadn't  had  the  training  that  you  gave  me 
in  your  office  in  all  sorts  of  business  forms  and 
details.  I  am  especially  thankful  for  the  letters  you 
made  me  answer  in  my  own  words.  Mrs.  Blythe 
turns  over  two-thirds  of  her  mail  to  me  now  to  be 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

answered  in  that  way.  She  has  had  many  invita 
tions  lately  from  clubs  in  neighboring  towns,  asking 
her  to  go  and  explain  what  it  is  she  wants  them 
to  do,  and  she  feels  that  she  can't  afford  to  miss 
a  single  opportunity  of  the  kind.  Every  time  she 
gives  a  talk  she  gets  more  people  interested  in  the 
cause,  and  they  in  turn  interest  other  people,  and 
that  sends  the  ball  rolling  still  farther.  Really,  it 
is  getting  to  be  as  exciting  as  a  game  of  '  Prisoners' 
Base,'  seeing  how  many  we  can  get  on  '  our  side,' 
and  when  she  is  out  of  town  and  I  am  left  to  '  guard 
base,'  I  surely  feel  as  if  I  am  '  It,'  and  had  the  whole 
responsibility  on  my  shoulders." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  it  was  Mary's  pride  in 
doing  her  work  well  which  made  her  a  competent 
helper,  more  than  any  personal  interest  which  she 
took  in  Mrs.  Blythe's  plans.  After  the  first  round 
of  visits  to  the  tenements  she  kept  away  from  them 
as  much  as  possible.  The  first  month's  salary  was 
accorded  a  silent  jubilee  in  her  room.  Most  of  it 
had  to  go  for  board  and  some  few  things  she 
needed,  but  she  started  a  savings  account  and  locked 
away  her  bank-book  with  the  feeling  that  she  was 
laying  the  corner-stone  of  her  home  in  the  Happy 
Valley.  True,  there  wasn't  the  same  joy  in  plan 
ning  for  it  that  there  had  been  when  she  looked 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  207 

forward  to  her  mother  sharing  it  with  her,  but  it 
was  with  a  sense  of  deep  satisfaction  that  she  opened 
her  account  and  carried  home  the  little  book  with 
its  first  entry. 

On  one  of  the  occasions  when  Mrs.  Blythe  was 
away  from  home  for  several  days,  an  indignant 
letter  came  from  some  one  in  a  town  where  she  had 
spoken  the  previous  week,  demanding  to  know  why 
she  was  making  such  a  fight  to  have  a  law  passed 
which  would  work  hardship  to  worthy  landlords 
who  were  good  citizens  and  prominent  in  all  public 
charities.  It  named  a  man  in  Riverville  as  a  sample 
of  the  kind  of  citizen  she  was  trying  to  injure,  and 
demanded  so  threateningly  her  reasons  for  doing 
so,  that  Mary  was  troubled  by  its  covert  threats. 
Mrs.  Blythe  would  not  be  back  till  the  end  of  the 
week,  Mr.  Blythe  was  in  New  York,  and  there  was 
no  one  in  Riverville  whom  she  knew  well  enough 
to  discuss  the  situation  with.  After  worrying  over 
it  all  one  day  and  night,  quite  unexpectedly  she 
found  out  what  she  wanted  to  know  from  Sandford 
Berry. 

He  came  out  on  the  side  porch  where  she  was 
sitting  after  an  early  lunch,  and  paused  to  light  a 
cigar.  Something  prompted  her  to  refer  casually 
to  the  man  who  had  been  spoken  of  in  the  letter  as 


208          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

a  model  citizen,  and  to  ask  if  the  reporter  knew 
him. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he's  a  charitable  old  cuss,"  was  Mr. 
Berry's  elegant  answer.  "  His  name  leads  all  the 
subscription  lists  a-going;  but  I'll  give  you  a  tip 
on  the  side,  if  you're  after  him  to  get  a  bit  of  local 
color  for  any  of  your  documents.  Just  make  some 
excuse  to  visit  some  lodging  houses  he  owns  on 
the  corner  of  Myrtle  and  Tenth  Streets.  Diamond 
Row  they  call  it,  because  they  say  he  gets  the  worth 
of  his  wife's  gorgeous  diamonds  out  of  it  in  rents 
every  year,  and  she  has  the  most  notable  ones  in 
town.  It's  the  worst  ever!  I  don't  think  Mrs. 
Blythe  has  discovered  it  yet.  I  didn't  get  into  it 
myself  until  the  other  day,  when  I  had  to  go  to 
report  an  accident,  but  we  newspaper  men  unearth 
all  the  sights  that  are  to  be  seen,  eventually." 

"  Would  it  be  all  right  for  me  to  go  —  I  mean 
safe  ?  "  asked  Mary  hesitatingly. 

"  Sure !  "  was  the  cheerful  answer.  "  It's  safe 
as  far  as  the  people  you'll  meet  are  concerned.  I 
can't  say  as  much  for  the  germs." 

"  But  I  haven't  a  shadow  of  excuse  for  going," 
faltered  Mary.  "  I  couldn't  walk  into  a  hovel  out 
of  sheer  curiosity  without  some  reason  for  intru 
ding,  any  more  than  I  could  into  a  rich  person's 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  209 

home.  I  haven't  any  more  right  to  do  the  one  than 
the  other." 

"  That's  what  they  all  say,"  answered  Sandford 
Berry.  "  But  there  is  a  difference.  You'll  find  that 
those  tenants  are  glad  of  a  chance  to  tell  their 
troubles  to  some  one.  Oh,  of  course,  they'd  spot 
you  if  you  went  poking  in  for  no  reason  but  curi 
osity,  but  anybody  with  tact  and  a  desire  to  get 
at  the  real  inwardness  of  things  for  the  purpose  of 
bettering  them  would  find  a  welcome.  Those  peo 
ple  know  the  difference." 

He  puffed  away  in  silence  a  moment,  considering 
a  way  to  help  her  as  he  had  often  helped  Mrs. 
Blythe,  and  taking  it  for  granted  that  Mary  was 
just  as  eager  for  his  suggestions  as  the  other  one 
had  been. 

"  You  might  tell  them  you  are  looking  for  an 
old  woman  from  the  country  who  knits  some  sort 
of  lace  for  sale.  There  used  to  be  one  there.  At 
least,  I've  seen  an  old  woman  who  used  to  be  always 
knitting,  sitting  at  a  corner  window.  I  don't  know 
whether  she  sold  it  or  not,  or  whether  she  was  from 
the  country.  But  it  will  do  for  an  opening  wedge, 
and  with  her  to  start  on  you  can  easily  get  into 
conversation  with  any  of  them."  Then,  as  Mary 
still  hesitated,  he  added,  "  If  you  really  want  to 


210  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

investigate  and  fed  anyways  backward  about  it, 
I'll  walk  down  that  far  with  you  and  show  you 
where  it  is.  It  happens  to  be  on  my  beat." 

Mary  really  had  no  wish  to  go.  She  shrank  from 
contact  with  something  which  the  experienced  Mr. 
Berry  pronounced  "  the  worst  ever."  But  he  was 
waiting  so  confidently  for  her  to  put  on  her  hat  and 
accompany  him,  that  there  seemed  nothing  else  for 
her  to  do. 

"  Get  an  eye  on  those  basement  rooms,"  he  ad 
vised  her  as  he  left  her  at  the  corner  of  Myrtle  and 
Tenth  Streets,  and  pointed  out  the  steps  leading  to 
the  underground  rooms  in  Diamond  Row.  With 
the  helpless  feeling  of  one  who  cannot  swim,  yet 
is  left  to  plunge  alone  into  icy  water,  Mary  stood 
at  the  top  of  the  steps  until  she  was  afraid  her  hesi 
tation  would  attract  attention.  Then  plucking  up 
her  courage,  she  forced  herself  to  walk  down  and 
knock  at  the  open  door. 

What  she  saw  in  her  first  quick  glance  was  a 
girl  no  older  than  herself,  lying  on  a  dirty  bare 
mattress,  a  woman  bending  over  a  wash-tub,  and 
a  baby  crawling  around  the  floor.  What  she  saw 
in  her  second  horrified  glance  was  that  a  green 
mould  stood  out  on  the  walls,  that  both  plaster  and 
lath  were  broken  away  in  places,  so  that  one  could 


THE  SUPREME  CALL  211 

peer  through  into  an  adjoining  cellar.  Evidently 
the  cellar  had  water  standing  in  it,  from  the  foul, 
dank  odor  which  came  in  through  the  holes.  And 
the  water  must  have  seeped  through  into  this  room 
at  times,  for  some  of  the  planks  in  the  floor  nearest 
the  wall  were  rotting. 

The  woman  looked  up  listlessly  without  taking 
her  arms  from  the  tub,  as  Mary  made  her  faltering 
inquiry  for  the  old  lady  who  made  lace,  and  an 
swered  in  some  foreign  tongue.  Then  she  bent 
again  to  her  rubbing,  in  stolid  indifference  to  the 
stranger  who  had  made  a  sudden  descent  on  her 
home.  Mary  was  too  inexperienced  to  know  that 
one  cause  of  her  indifference  was  that  she  was  too 
underfed  and  overworked  and  mentally  stunted  by 
her  hideous  surroundings  to  care  who  came  and 
went  around  her. 

Mary  turned  to  the  girl  on  the  musty  mattress. 
It  wasn't  actual  starvation  which  drew  the  skin  so 
tightly  over  her  cheek-bones  and  gave  the  pinched 
look  to  her  face,  for  there  was  food  still  left  on 
the  cluttered  table,  where  flies  buzzed  over  the  un 
washed  dishes  in  sickening  swarms.  It  was  the 
disease  which  had  claimed  a  victim,  sometimes 
several,  from  every  family  in  turn  who  occupied 
the  room,  because  it  had  never  been  properly  dis- 


212  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

infected.  Not  even  the  sunlight  could  get  in  to  do 
its  share  towards  making  it  fit  for  a  human  dwell 
ing,  for  the  only  windows  of  this  half-underground 
room  were  narrow  transoms  near  the  ceiling,  and 
the  only  air  reached  it  through  the  door  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  steps. 

The  girl  was  evidently  asleep,  and,  after  one  more 
glance,  Mary  turned  with  a  shudder  and  hurried 
back  up  the  steps.  She  hesitated  to  make  a  second 
attempt  but  nerved  herself  to  it  by  the  thought  of 
the  questions  Sandford  Berry  was  sure  to  ask  of 
her.  On  the  first  floor  she  knocked  at  several  doors, 
and  although  she  found  no  clue  to  the  old  lace 
knitter,  she  soon  found  a  welcome  from  a  voluble 
old  Irish  woman,  who  hospitably  invited  her  in. 
Her  eyes  were  that  bad,  she  explained,  that  she 
couldn't  see  to  do  much.  Her  family  worked  in 
the  factory  all  day,  and  she  was  glad  of  some  one 
to  talk  to. 

The  door  into  the  hall  stood  open,  and  presently 
another  woman  strayed  in,  scenting  entertainment 
of  some  kind,  and  then  a  much  younger  woman 
followed,  a  slatternly  creature  with  a  sickly  looking 
baby  in  her  arms.  Old  Mrs.  Donegan  talked  freely 
of  her  neighbors  after  Mary  had  tactfully  won  her 
confidence.  She  told  her  that  most  of  them  worked 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  213 

in  the  factory.  The  Polish  woman  in  the  basement 
washed  for  some  of  the  factory  hands,  and  although 
she  worked  all  day  and  often  far  into  the  night, 
it  took  nearly  all  she  could  make  to  pay  the  rent. 
There  wasn't  enough  to  buy  medicine  for  the  girl, 
who  was  dying  of  consumption. 

"  Why  don't  they  leave  here  and  go  out  to  the 
country  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  People  out  there  need 
help,  and  they  could  at  least  have  clean  water,  and 
clean  grass  to  lie  on.  They'd  be  better  off  out 
under  the  trees  than  in  that  basement." 

"  Mrs.  Donegan's  dim  eyes  narrowed  shrewdly. 
"Did  you  ever  see  a  rat  caught  in  a  trap?"  she 
asked.  "  It  can't  help  itself.  It  can't  get  out.  No 
more  can  they.  They  can't  even  speak  English." 

"  Don't  you  go  to  telling  the  landlord  we  com 
plained,"  whined  the  woman  with  the  baby.  "  He'd 
turn  us  out.  Rents  are  so  high  everywhere  that 
I  tramped  for  days  to  find  this  place.  The  others 
was  worse  than  this." 

Mary's  evident  friendliness  and  warmly  ex 
pressed  interest  soon  started  all  three  of  the  women 
to  telling  tales  of  Diamond  Row.  Mrs.  Donegan's 
were  the  worst,  as  she  claimed  the  distinction  of 
being  the  oldest  inhabitant.  The  one  that  aroused 
Mary's  greatest  indignation  was  of  a  child  which 


214  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

had  been  drowned  in  the  cellar  ten  years  ago.  The 
inside  staircase  going  to  the  basement  ran  down  over 
the  cellar  in  some  way,  and  it  was  so  rotten  in 
parts  that  it  gave  way  one  day  and  he  fell  through. 
It  was  in  the  spring,  when  the  river  was  so  high 
that  the  cellar  was  half  full  of  backwater,  and  the 
child  drowned  before  they  could  get  him  out. 

Mrs.  Donegan  gave  a  dramatic  account  of  it, 
omitting  none  of  the  gruesome  details,  for  she  had 
been  fond  of  the  pretty  golden-haired  boy  of  three, 
and  sympathized  with  all  the  ardor  of  her  warm 
Irish  heart  with  the  old  grandmother,  who  was  one 
of  her  best  friends. 

"  That's  sorrow  for  you,"  she  exclaimed,  shaking 
her  head  dismally.  "If  you  could  only  see  the 
poor  old  creature  now,  so  crippled  up  with  the  mis 
ery  in  her  bones  that  she  can't  leave  her  chair,  and 
nothing  for  her  to  do  all  day  but  sit  and  eat  her 
heart  out  with  longing  for  little  Terence.  Ah,  he 
was  the  fine  lad,  always  hanging  on  his  granny's 
chair  and  putting  his  little  curly  head  on  her  shoul 
der  to  be  petted.  She  keeps  one  of  those  curls 
always  by  her  in  a  little  box  on  the  table,  and  like 
the  sunshine  it  is.  Come  in  and  see  it  now.  Do," 
she  urged  hospitably.  "  It's  always  glad  she  is  to 
talk  about  him  and  cry  over  the  sad  end  he  come  to." 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  215 

Mary  drew  back,  protesting  that  she  couldn't 
bear  to.  It  was  all  so  horrible.  "  What  did  they 
do  about  it  .afterwards?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  answer.  "  The  lad's  father, 
Tim  Reilly,  was  too  poor  to  bring  suit,  and  it  cost 
something  to  move,  and  they  couldn't  get  anything 
better  for  the  same  price.  So  they  just  stayed  on, 
although  his  wife  and  the  poor  old  granny  almost 
wept  their  eyes  out  at  the  sight  of  that  staircase 
for  many  a  month.  It  was  all  written  up  in  the 
papers,  with  pictures  of  Terence  and  the  cellar. 
Lots  of  people  came  to  look  at  the  house,  and  there 
was  a  piece  in  the  paper  saying  that  the  stairway 
was  a  death-trap,  and  that  the  owner  ought  to  have 
the  charge  of  murder  laid  at  his  door,  and  that  an 
indignant  public  demanded  that  he  put  in  a  new  one. 
Mrs.  Reilly  keeps  one  of  these  same  papers  by  her 
to  this  day.  She  keeps  it  for  the  picture  of  Terence 
that's  in  it." 

"  How  long  was  it  before  he  put  in  the  new 
stairway?"  asked  Mary,  seeing  that  some  response 
was  expected  of  her. 

The  old  woman  leaned  over  and  shook  her  ringer 
impressively.  "  It's  the  gospel  truth  I'm  telling 
you,  never  a  one  has  been  put  in  to  this  day.  They 
just  patched  up  the  old  one  with  a  few  new 


2l6  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

planks,  and  all  rotten  it  is  and  tearing  loose 
again,  as  you  may  see  for  yourself  if  you'll  follow 
me." 

But  Mary  refused  this  invitation  also,  and  a  little 
later  took  her  leave,  unutterably  depressed  by  all 
that  she  had  seen  and  heard.  Mrs.  Donegan,  with 
the  other  women  to  refresh  her  memory,  had 
counted  up  forty  funerals  which  had  taken  place  in 
Diamond  Row  in  the  eleven  years  that  she  had  lived 
under  its  leaky  roof. 

Mary  was  through  supper  that  night  when  Sand- 
ford  Berry  strolled  in.  "  Well,"  he  said,  pausing 
to  put  his  head  in  at  the  parlor  door,  where  she 
sat  glancing  over  the  evening  paper.  "  What 
luck?" 

"  Oh,  it  was  perfectly  hideous !  "  she  exclaimed, 
and  proceeded  to  pour  out  the  story  of  her  visit 
so  indignantly  that  he  nodded  his  approval. 

"  I  see  that  you  got  your  local  color  all  right. 
It's  fairly  lurid." 

"  And  I  did  something  else,"  confessed  Mary. 
"  I  tried  to  find  the  owner  of  the  place,  Mr.  Stoner, 
and  paint  the  picture  for  him.  But  he  was  in  Eu 
rope.  So  was  his  wife.  And  then  I  found  out  who 
his  agent  was,  and  I  went  to  him  and  asked  him 
why  he  didn't  fix  the  place  up.  He  was  as  coolly 


THE  SUPREME  CALL  217 

polite  as  an  iceberg,  but  he  told  me  in  so  many 
words  that  it  was  none  of  my  business.  That  it  was 
his  business  to  look  after  the  interests  of  his  em 
ployer  and  collect  the  rents,  and  not  to  humor  the 
whims  of  a  few  fussy  women  who  had  more  senti 
ment  than  sense." 

"  Then  what  did  you  say?  "  laughed  Sandford. 

Mary's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  and  her  cheeks  grew 
redder  and  redder  as  she  talked. 

"  I  told  him  it  was  not  rents  alone  he  was  col 
lecting,  but  blood-money,  and  that  the  owner  of  that 
tenement  was  as  responsible  for  the  forty  deaths 
inside  its  walls  as  if  he'd  deliberately  poisoned 
them.  And  I  told  him  I'd  make  it  my  business  from 
now  on  to  see  that  the  people  knew  the  truth  about 
him.  And  then  I  got  so  mad  that  I  knew  I'd  burst 
out  crying  if  I  stayed  another  minute,  so  I  flounced 
out  and  left  him  staring  after  me  open-mouthed, 
as  if  I'd  flown  at  him  and  pecked  him." 

The  reporter  laughed  again  and  started  on 
towards  the  dining-room,  but  paused  to  look  back 
with  a  wise  nod  of  the  head,  which  aggravated 
Mary  quite  as  much  as  the  knowing  tone  with  which 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  told  you  so !  I  told  you  that  when 
the  torch  once  set  you  to  blazing  you'd  be  the  big 
gest  beacon  fire  in  the  bunch !  " 


2l8          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

That  night  Mary  dreamed  of  that  basement  room 
with  the  mould  on  the  walls  and  the  water  seeping 
in  from  the  adjoining  cellar,  and  of  the  girl  dying 
of  consumption  on  the  musty  mattress.  And  all 
the  forty  sufferers  who  had  sickened  and  died  from 
the  unsanitary  conditions  of  the  tenement  trooped 
through  her  dream,  and  held  out  their  feverish  thin 
hands  to  her,  imploring  her  to  help.  And  she  an 
swered  them  as  she  had  answered  the  agent,  "  I'll 
make  it  my  business.  I'll  tell  your  story  all  over 
the  state  and  all  over  the  land  until  the  people  de 
mand  a  law  to  save  you." 

It  was  a  hot  July  night,  and  Mary,  waking  in 
her  big  many-windowed  room,  sat  up  almost  gasp 
ing.  She  wondered  what  the  heat  must  be  like  in 
those  tenement  rooms  without  any  windows,  with 
half  a  dozen  or  more  people  crowded  into  each  one. 
Slipping  out  of  bed  she  drew  a  low  rocker  to  the 
window  overlooking  the  river,  and  with  her  arms 
crossed  on  the  sill,  looked  out  into  the  darkness. 
There  was  only  the  starlight  to-night,  and  the  col 
ored  lights  of  the  wharf  boats  along  the  bank.  She 
could  not  see  the  dim  outline  of  the  Kentucky 
shore,  but  it  was  a  comfort  to  know  that  it  was 
there. 

Presently  she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  up,  her 


THE   SUPREME   CALL  219 

lips  parted  and  a  half  frightened  throbbing  in  her 
ears.  It  had  come  over  her  with  an  almost  over 
powering  realization  that  those  voices  she  was  hear 
ing  were  like  those  which  Joan  of  Arc  heard.  It 
was  the  King's  Call  summoning  her  again  as  it  had 
summoned  her  at  Warwick  Hall.  Then  it  was  all 
vague  and  shadowy,  the  thing  she  was  to  do.  Now 
she  knew  with  what  great  task  she  was  to  keep 
tryst.  She  was  to  help  in  this  struggle  to  free 
these  poor  people  from  the  conditions  which  bound 
them.  She  was  to  help  them  reach  out  for  their 
birthright,  which  was  nothing  more  than  a  fair 
chance  to  help  themselves. 

Gazing  up  at  the  stars,  a  great  wonder  swept  over 
her,  that  she,  little  Mary  Ware,  had  been  called  to 
a  destiny  even  greater  than  that  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans.  For  was  it  not  greater  to  enlist  a  nation 
in  such  warfare  than  to  ride  at  the  head  of  an  army 
and  spur  men  on  to  bloodshed?  This  battle,  once 
won,  would  give  not  only  this  generation  of  help 
less  poor  their  chance  for  health  and  decent  homes, 
but  would  lift  the  handicap  from  their  children  and 
all  their  children's  children  who  might  come  after 
them. 

Once,  as  she  sat  there,  the  thought  came  to  her 
that  if  she  devoted  herself  to  this  cause  she  might 


220  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

be  an  old  woman  before  it  was  accomplished,  and 
that  she  would  have  to  give  up  all  hope  of  the  home 
she  had  long  planned  to  have  eventually  in  the 
Happy  Valley.  Even  in  her  exalted  mood  it  seemed 
a  great  sacrifice  to  make,  and  a  long  time  she  sat 
there,  counting  the  cost. 

"  To  live  in  scorn  of  miserable  aims  that  end  in 
self  —  "  She  started  as  if  a  real  voice  had  spoken 
in  her  ear.  "  That  is  what  mamma  used  to  say  so 
often,"  she  thought.  "  That  is  the  way  she  lived. 
But  can  I  keep  it  up  for  a  whole  life-time,  clear  to 
the  end?" 

It  was  the  years  that  lay  behind  her  which  helped 
her  to  an  answer.  The  years,  which,  could  they 
have  been  marked  like  Edryn's  would  have  been 
bejewelled  with  the  tokens  of  little  duties  faithfully 
performed.  No  pearls  showed  white  like  his  to  mark 
them,  no  diamond  gleamed  where  Sorrow's  tear 
had  fallen,  no  amethyst  glowed  in  purple  splen 
dor  to  mark  her  patient  meeting  with  Defeat, 
yet  she  had  earned  them  as  truly  as  he,  and  in 
the  earning  had  fitted  herself  for  this  fuller 
fealty. 

The  sky  had  lightened  until  the  far  shore  of  the 
river  was  dimly  visible  when  she  stood  up  and  held 
out  her  hands  towards  it  in  a  mute  gesture  of  sur- 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  221 

render.     Like  Edryn  she  had  heard  the  supreme 
call,  and  like  him  she  answered  it : 

"  Oh,  heart,  and  hand  of  mine,  keep  tryst! 
Keep  tryst  or  die!  " 

She  was  still  in  the  same  exalted  mood  when  she 
sat  down  next  day  to  answer  the  angry  letter  which 
had  started  her  on  her  search  after  "  local  color." 
All  her  indignation  of  the  previous  day  came  back, 
and  she  pictured  the  foul  conditions  of  the  base 
ment  room  as  realistically  as  a  photographer  could 
have  done,  ending  with  the  underscored  statement : 

"  The  man  you  are  defending  is  living  luxuri 
ously  on  the  rents  he  collects  from  this  death-trap 
and  others  like  it,  and  yet  refuses  through  his  agent 
to  drive  one  nail  in  it  to  make  it  more  fit  to  live 
in.  A  man  who  gives  out  as  alms,  with  one  hand, 
what  he  wrings  with  the  other  as  blood-money  from 
the  victims  of  his  miserly  greed,  deserves  to  have 
a  trumpet  sounded  before  him  as  the  hypocrites  do, 
and  we  shall  continue  to  sound  it  until  public  senti 
ment  compels  him  to  be  as  humane  as  his  preten 
sions." 

When  Mrs.  Blythe  came  back  and  found  this 
fiery  response  on  her  desk  awaiting  her  signature, 
she  smiled  at  first,  then  recognized  gratefully  that 


222  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

this  burst  of  indignation  meant  that  a  new  ally  had 
been  born  to  the  cause.  But  she  had  to  explain 
tactfully  to  Mary  that  while  her  answer  was  a  just 
one,  it  was  not  wise  to  anger  the  man  still  farther 
by  sending  it. 

"  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  rewrite  that  last 
page,"  she  said  regretfully.  "  Send  your  descrip 
tion  of  Diamond  Row,  just  as  it  is,  and  the  agent's 
refusal  to  do  anything  to  better  it,  but  leave  out 
the  personal  tirade  that  follows.  It  may  relieve 
your  feelings  but  it  will  do  the  cause  harm  by  arous 
ing  an  opposition  which  means  the  loss  of  many 
votes  when  the  question  comes  up  before  the  Legis 
lature  next  winter. 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  like,"  she  added,  see 
ing  the  shade  of  disappointment  that  clouded  Mary's 
face  for  a  second.  "  I'd  like  to  have  that  descrip 
tion  published  in  The  Survey,  and  I'd  like  to  take 
you  with  me  this  afternoon  to  the  meeting  of  a  com 
mittee  of  the  Commercial  Club,  and  have  you  tell 
them  about  this  visit,  just  as  you  have  told  it  in 
this  letter.  It's  one  of  the  most  realist'c  things  I 
ever  read.  It  fairly  makes  my  flesh  creep  in  places." 

Mary  gave  a  gasp  of  astonishment,  unable  to 
believe  at  first  that  Mrs.  Blythe  was  serious.  To 
be  pushed  forward  as  a  magazine  writer  and  a  pub- 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  223 

lie  speaker,  both  in  one  day,  was  too  much  for  her 
comprehension. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Blythe !  I  couldn't  make  a  speech  in 
public!"  protested  Mary,  half  frightened  at  the 
mere  thought. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to,"  was  the  placid  answer. 
"  I  merely  want  you  to  come  with  me  and  sit  at  a 
big  table  with  a  dozen  or  more  people  around  it, 
and  answer  the  questions  that  we  put  to  you  about 
what  you've  seen.  You're  not  afraid  to  do  that, 
are  you?  " 

"  No,  if  that's  all,"  admitted  Mary  hesitatingly. 
"  It's  never  been  any  trouble  for  me  to  do  just  plain 
talking.  It  used  to  be  that  my  difficulty  was  I 
never  knew  when  to  quit." 

"I'll  attend  to  that  part  of  it,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Blythe. 

So  it  came  about  that  afternoon  that  Mary  sat  at 
the  big  directors'  table  in  an  upper  room  of  the 
Commercial  Club  building,  and  told  once  more  the 
story  of  her  visit  to  the  tenement  on  Myrtle  and 
Tenth  Streets.  She  began  it  a  little  hesitatingly, 
with  a  quicker  beating  of  pulses  and  a  deepening" 
of  color,  but  gradually  she  lost  her  self -conscious 
ness.  The  inspiration  of  many  interested  listeners 
gave  her  a  sense  of  power.  She  was  conscious  of 


224  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

the  breathless  silence  in  which  her  story  held  them. 
She  felt  rather  than  saw  that  no  one  stirred,  and 
that  they  were  all  moved  by  the  story  of  the  old 
blind  grandmother,  grieving  over  the  golden  curl 
that  was  all  that  was  left  to  her  of  the  child  who 
was  her  sunshine.  When  she  mimicked  the  agent's 
voice  and  manner,  the  ripple  of  appreciation  which 
passed  around  the  table  gratified  her  more  than  the 
applause  which  followed.  It  showed  that  she  had 
made  what  Sandford  Berry  would  have  called  "  a 
decided  hit." 

"You  will  do  it  again,"  Mrs.  Blythe  said  when 
the  meeting  was  over  and  they  were  on  their  way 
home,  and  Mary  nodded  assent.  She  didn't  mind 
any  amount  of  "  just  plain  talking,"  especially  when 
it  succeeded  in  arousing  such  interest  as  this  first 
effort  had  done.  She  told  the  same  story  several 
times  that  week  in  Riverville  to  small  audiences, 
and  then  again  in  Maysport,  in  a  room  so  large 
that  she  had  to  stand  in  order  to  make  herself  heard. 
But  even  then  she  was  not  embarrassed,  for  Mrs. 
Blythe  was  standing  too.  She  had  turned  in  the 
midst  of  her  own  talk  to  say  quite  naturally,  "  You 
tell  them  about  that  part  of  it,  Miss  Ware.  You 
can  make  them  see  it  more  plainly  than  I." 

Again  Mary,  in  the  midst  of  profound  silence, 


THE  SUPREME   CALL  22$ 

saw  eyes  grow  misty  with  sympathy  and  saw  faces 
light  up  with  indignation  at  her  recital.  It  never 
occurred  to  her  to  write  home  that  she  had  spoken 
in  public.  She  didn't  really  count  it  as  such,  for, 
as  she  told  Sandford  Berry,  it  wasn't  a  real  speech. 
It  was  just  as  if  she  had  seen  a  case  that  needed 
the  attention  of  a  Humane  officer,  and  had  stopped 
in  off  the  street  to  report  it.  It  was  Mrs.  Blythe 
who  made  the  real  speeches,  who  put  their  duty  so 
clearly  before  the  people  of  Riverville  that  before 
August  was  over  a  Better  Homes  society  had  been 
organized,  and  a  score  of  members  enrolled  as  active 
workers. 

When  Mary  had  time  to  stop  and  think,  she  real 
ized  that  she  was  truly  in  the  thick  of  things  at  last, 
for  the  more  she  tried  to  interest  people  the  more 
necessary  she  found  it  to  go  often  to  the  tenements 
for  fresh  pictures  of  their  need.  And  sometimes  a 
day  that  began  by  sending  her  to  a  needy  family  on 
Myrtle  Street,  ended  by  taking  her  to  a  musicale 
or  a  lawn  fete  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  homes 
of  the  city.  Mrs.  Blythe's  introduction  of  her 
everywhere  as  her  friend,  rather  than  her  secretary, 
would  have  opened  Riverville  doors  to  her  of  its  own 
self,  but,  aside  from  that,  Mary  won  an  entrance 
to  many  a  friendship  on  her  own  account.  She 


226 


MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 


was  so  sincerely  interested  in  everything  and  every 
body,  so  glad  to  make  friends,  so  fresh  in  her 
enthusiasm,  and  so  attractive  in  all  the  healthy 
vigor  of  heart  and  body  which  a  sturdy  outdoor 
life  had  given  hear. 


CHAPTER   IV 

"  PINK  "   OR  DIAMOND  ROW 

THE  long  hot  summer  was  followed  by  a  Sep 
tember  so  dry  and  dusty  that  the  town  lay  parched 
in  the  sweltering  heat. 

"  Doesn't  it  make  you  feel  like  a  wilted  lettuce 
leaf  ? "  Mary  said  to  Sandford  Berry  one  noon 
when  they  met  at  the  boarding-house  gate  on  their 
way  in  to  dinner.  "  I've  been  down  to  Myrtle  Street 
all  morning,  and  some  of  those  crowded  rooms  are 
so  stifling  that  I  don't  see  how  the  inmates  breathe." 

"  You  ought  to  keep  away  from  them,"  advised 
Sandford  with  a  critical  glance  at  her.  "  They're 
making  you  pale  and  thin.  They're  getting  on  your 
nerves." 

"  I  know  it,"  admitted  Mary,  "  but  the  more  they 
get  on  my  nerves,  the  more  I  feel  obliged  to  go." 

She  took  her  place  at  the  table  languidly,  and 
merely  tasted  the  iced  bouillon  which  the  waitress 
put  before  her.  She  felt  faint  and  needed  food,  but 
it  was  hard  to  force  herself  to  swallow  while  the 

227 


228  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

smell  of  the  unwholesome  places  she  had  visited 
seemed  still  in  her  nostrils.  The  remembrance  of 
some  of  them  rose  sickeningly  before  her  and  she 
pushed  her  plate  aside. 

'  You  take  my  advice  and  stay  away  from  those 
places,"  said  Sandford  again,  noticing  the  move 
ment.  "  What's  the  use  of  wearing  your  sympa 
thies  to  a  frazzle  over  what  can't  be  helped  ?  They're 
sapping  the  life  out  of  you,  and  you're  doing  them 
no  good  —  that  is,  no  lasting  good.  It  only  af 
fords  temporary  relief." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  what  I  am  doing," 
retorted  Mary,  irritated  by  his  comments  and  pro 
voked  at  herself  for  feeling  irritation  over  what 
she  knew  was  prompted  by  friendly  interest.  Yet 
when  she  went  to  her  room  after  having  barely 
tasted  her  dinner,  she  stood  a  moment  in  front  of 
the  mirror,  recalling  his  remarks.  She  had  to  ad 
mit  that  the  first  was  true.  There  were  blue  shad 
ows  under  her  eyes.  All  the  fresh  color  and  the 
sparkle  was  gone  from  her  face.  She  looked  as  she 
felt,  worn  and  exhausted. 

"  But  I  am  doing  them  some  good,"  she  pro 
tested  to  herself,  and  in  proof  of  it  took  from  a 
drawer  the  little  memorandum  book  in  which  she 
set  down  her  daily  expenses.  She  went  back  over 


"PINK"   OR  DIAMOND   ROW  229 

the  accounts  of  the  month  just  past.  Nothing  for 
herself  except  board  and  carfare,  but  the  other 
entries  filled  several  pages :  "  Ice,  fresh  eggs,  cream, 
beef  juice,  ice,  alcohol,  towels,  ice  —  " 

Each  time  the  word  ice  met  her  eye  she  recalled 
the  parched  lips  that  had  moaned  for  it,  the  feverish 
hands  that  had  clutched  it  so  greedily  when  she 
brought  it,  and  she  thought  if  Sandford  Berry 
could  only  see  what  she  had  done  for  some  of  the 
poor  souls  who  "  got  on  her  nerves  "  he'd  change 
his  opinion  about  her  efforts  to  help  them  being  of 
no  avail.  But  the  next  moment  a  mood  of  depres- 
"ion  seized  her,  weighing  down  on  her  so  heavily 
th..t  hot  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 

"  He's  right !  It  isn't  of  any  lasting  good,"  she 
thought.  "  It's  like  the  ice  that  brings  relief  for 
a  moment,  but  is  melted  and  gone  the  next!  And 
my  salary  is  all  gone,  and  so  is  nearly  everything 
that  I  saved  the  month  before.  There  isn't  a  dollar 
left  to  my  credit  in  the  savings  bank.  What  is  the 
use  of  going  on  this  way,  when  all  one  can  do 
amounts  to  no  more  than  a  drop  in  the  bucket  ?  " 

Mary  had  sat  up  late  the  night  before,  finishing 
a  lot  of  letters  that  Mrs.  Blythe  was  anxious  to 
have  mailed  as  soon  as  possible.  It  was  midnight 
when  she  covered  her  typewriter,  and  the  heat  and 


230  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

a  stray  mosquito  which  had  eluded  both  Mrs.  Crum 
and  the  screens,  made  her  wakeful  and  restless. 
That  accounted  for  her  physical  exhaustion,  while 
the  experiences  of  the  morning  were  enough  to  send 
her  spirits  to  the  lowest  ebb. 

She  told  herself  over  and  over,  as  she  lay  across 
the  bed  and  tried  to  reason  herself  into  a  more 
cheerful  frame  of  mind,  that  it  was  only  natural 
that  she  should  feel  as  she  did,  and  that  when  she 
was  rested  the  world  would  look  as  bright  as  usual. 
On  account  of  her  late  work  the  night  before,  Mrs. 
Blythe  had  given  her  nothing  to  do  to-day.  It  was 
to  see  proteges  of  her  own  that  Mary  had  gone  t' 
the  tenements.  She  might  have  passed  the  mo*n- 
ing  with  a  book,  down  on  the  bank  of  the  river 
under  the  willows,  where  there  was  a  cooling  breath 
now  and  then  from  the  water.  But,  haunted  by 
Elsie  Whayne's  hollow-eyed  little  face,  she  could 
not  go  off  and  enjoy  her  holiday  alone  in  comfort. 

For  weeks  Elsie  had  seemed  burning  up  with  a 
slow  fever,  and  it  was  for  her  Mary  had  spent  the 
last  of  her  salary  on  alcohol  for  cooling  rubs,  and 
for  ice  and  for  some  thin,  soft  ready-made  gowns. 
Poor  little  country-bred  Elsie,  who  had  cried  over 
her  line  of  gray  clothes  because  she  could  not  wash 
them  clean  in  the  scanty  amount  of  water  allotted 


"PINK"  OR  DIAMOND   ROW  231 

to  each  room  in  the  crowded  house,  cried  again  over 
the  snowy  whiteness  of  the  new  gowns.  They  were 
such  a  joy  to  her  that  it  was  pitiful  to  hear  her 
exclamations  over  them. 

And  Mary,  seeing  the  wreck  that  fever  had  made 
of  the  pretty  child,  who  had  come  to  the  tenement 
abloom  with  health,  wrote  down  one  more  black 
crime  against  the  man  who  was  responsible  for  the 
fever,  because  he  would  not  clean  up  the  plague- 
infested  spots  on  which  it  fed  and  grew. 

It  is  bad  enough  to  be  ill  when  one  has  every 
luxury  in  a  quiet  room  to  oneself,  where  deft-fin 
gered  nurses  keep  noiseless  watch  to  minister  to 
the  slightest  need;  but  to  suffer  as  the  children  of 
the  tenements  must,  with  not  even  a  whole  bed  to 
oneself  sometimes,  oh,  the  pity  of  it!  And  to  have 
to  lie  as  some  of  them  do,  all  through  the  stifling 
days,  panting  and  gasping  in  the  fumes  of  an  ill- 
smelling  lamp,  because  the  four  dark  walls  have 
not  a  single  window  —  oh,  the  shame  of  it ! 

Mary  never  encountered  the  first  sight  without 
wishing  impulsively  that  her  eyes  had  never  been 
opened  to  such  things.  She  was  so  much  happier 
before  she  knew  that  such  conditions  existed  in  the 
world.  But  she  never  came  across  the  second  that 
a  sort  of  fierce  joy  did  not  take  possession  of  her 


232  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

at  the  thought  that  she  did  know,  and  that  she  was 
helping  in  a  fight  to  wipe  out  such  dreadful  holes, 
which  are  all  that  some  families  have  to  call  home. 

She  fell  asleep  presently,  and  lay  motionless  until 
a  banana  man  went  by  in  the  street  below,  with  loud 
cries  of  his  wares  underneath  her  window.  Then 
she  roused  up  with  a  start,  to  find  herself  cramped 
from  long  lying  in  one  position  with  her  clothes  on. 

"  I  might  as  well  make  myself  comfortable  and 
spend  the  whole  afternoon  resting,"  she  concluded ; 
so  slipping  off  her  dress,  she  opened  the  closet  door 
to  take  down  a  long  white  kimono  which  hung  on 
one  of  the  back  hooks.  In  reaching  around  to  get 
it  she  upset  a  pile  of  boxes  on  the  corner  shelf,  and 
one  of  them  tumbled  open  at  her  feet.  It  was  full 
of  odds  and  ends  which  she  did  not  use  often,  and 
as  she  replaced  them  her  attention  was  called  to  the 
box  itself.  It  was  the  big  one  that  Lieutenant  Bog- 
lin  had  brought  to  the  train  filled  with  candy,  the 
morning  that  they  left  San  Antonio. 

How  far  away  that  time  seemed,  and  how  far 
Bogey  had  dropped  out  of  her  life :  Bogey  and 
Gay  and  Roberta  and  all  those  other  good  friends 
who  had  filled  such  a  big  place  in  her  thoughts.  She 
hadn't  heard  from  any  of  them  for  months,  and 
lately  she  had  scarcely  thought  of  them.  For  that 


"PINK"   OR  DIAMOND   ROW.  233 

matter  Jack  and  Norman  and  Joyce  and  Phil  had 
dropped  far  into  the  background.  They  were  no 
longer  her  first  thought  on  waking,  and  the  most 
constant  thought  throughout  the  day.  It  was  a 
different  world  she  was  living  in  now.  She  won 
dered  what  old  Captain  Doane  would  think  of  it; 
and  Pink  Upham  —  Then  she  smiled,  remembering 
that  it  had  been  weeks  since  she  had  given  a  thought 
to  either  of  them.  And  yet,  only  three  months  be 
fore  they  had  been  a  part  of  her  daily  living  and 
thinking  at  Lone- Rock. 

All  at  once  a  longing  for  the  clean,  quiet  little 
haven  up  in  the  hills  came  over  her  like  an  ache. 
She  was  homesick  for  the  restful  mountains,  where 
there  were  no  slums,  no  fever-infested  spots  such 
as  she  had  been  in  all  morning,  no  loathsome  mouldy 
walls,  no  dank,  foul  odors.  She  pictured  the  little 
home  not  as  it  stood  when  last  she  saw  it,  bright 
ened  with  all  Betty's  bridal  gifts,  with  Betty  as 
mistress,  but  as  it  was  at  that  last  Christmas  re 
union,  in  all  its  dear  shabby  homeliness.  The  sun 
shone  in  across  the  clean  faded  carpet,  and  every 
old  chair  held  out  its  arms  in  friendly  welcome. 

She  could  see  herself  stepping  around  the  kitchen 
getting  supper.  How  shiningly  clean  everything 
was !  What  peace  brooded  over  the  place,  and  what 


234  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

a  deep  sense  of  calm  and  well-being  and  content 
ment  pervaded  it.  And  her  mother  sat  by  the  win 
dow,  looking  up  from  her  sewing  now  and  then  to 
smile  or  speak.  Sometimes  she  hummed  softly  to 
herself  some  old  tune  like  Hebron: 

"  Thus  far  the  Lord  hath  led  me  on  — 
Thus  far  His  power  prolongs  my  days!  " 

Burying  her  face  in  the  pillow,  Mary  cried  softly 
for  what  could  never  be  again.  It  seemed  to  her, 
for  that  heart-breaking  little  while,  that  all  the 
heaven  she  could  ever  ask  would  be  just  to  go  back 
to  the  little  home  and  find  it  as  it  used  to  be,  with 
her  mother  there,  and  Jack  and  Norman,  nothing 
changed.  She  longed  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  life 
right  there  in  that  cottage  which  she  had  once  been 
so  anxious  to  get  away  from,  doing  the  same  tasks, 
day  after  day,  that  had  once  seemed  so  trivial  and 
monotonous.  She  lay  there  picturing  the  whole 
scene,  making  herself  more  miserable  every  instant, 
yet  finding  a  sorrowful  sort  of  pleasure  in  thus  tor 
turing  herself. 

She  could  recall  the  very  pattern  of  the  oil-cloth 
on  the  kitchen  floor,  the  brown  crocks,  the  yellow 
mixing-bowl,  the  little  black-handled  knife  she  al 
ways  pared  the  vegetables  with.  One  by  one  she 


"PINK"  OR  DIAMOND   ROW,  235 

took  them  up.  She  went  the  whole  narrow  round 
of  things,  from  kindling  the  fire  in  the  stove  with 
the  fresh-smelling  pine  chips  in  the  box,  to  putting 
the  tea  to  brew  in  the  fat  little  earthenware  pot  that 
had  been  one  of  Grandmother  Ware's  treasures. 
She  drew  the  biscuits  from  the  oven,  and  brought 
up  the  cream  and  butter  from  the  spotless  white 
cellar.  How  good  and  fresh  they  looked!  How 
good  and  fresh  they  tasted! 

Faint  from  having  eaten  no  dinner,  it  made  her 
sob  to  think  how  hungry  she  was,  with  a  hunger 
that  nothing  could  appease,  since  what  she  wanted 
most  existed  only  in  memory  now.  She  went  on 
with  her  pictures,  summoning  the  family  to  the 
table,  hearing  Norman's  answering  whoop  from  the 
woodshed,  and  Jack's  hearty  "  All  right !  I'll  be 
there  in  a  jiffy,  Sis !  "  Then  she  sobbed  harder  than 
ever,  remembering  that  her  summons  could  never 
again  be  answered  by  an  unbroken  circle. 

Presently,  exhausted  by  the  heat,  her  long  fast 
and  her  crying  spell,  she  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  The 
banana  man  passed  back  again  under  her  window, 
calling  his  wares  as  loudly  as  before,  but  she  did 
not  hear  him.  An  Italian  with  a  hand-organ 
stopped  in  front  of  the  house  and  ground  out  sev 
eral  popular  noisy  airs,  but  no  note  of  it  reached 


236  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

her.  There  was  a  dog  fight  on  the  corner,  a  terrific 
pow-wow  of  yelps  and  snarls ;  still  she  did  not  stir. 
Two,  three  hours  went  by.  Then  she  was  aroused 
by  a  rustling  sound  at  her  door,  and  opening  her 
eyes,  saw  that  some  one  was  slipping  a  letter 
under  it. 

She  lay  blinking  at  it  lazily  for  a  moment,  then, 
hanging  over  the  side  of  the  bed  as  far  as  she  could 
without  falling  out,  tried  to  pick  it  up.  It  was  just 
beyond  her  reach,  but  with  the  aid  of  a  slipper  she 
managed  to  touch  it  and  drag  it  near  enough  to 
get  her  fingers  on  to  it.  Doubling  up  the  pillow 
under  her  head,  she  lay  back,  leisurely  scanning  the 
envelope.  It  was  post-marked  Lone-Rock,  and  she 
knew  by  a  glance  at  the  heavily  shaded  flourishes  of 
the  address  that  it  was  from  Pink  Upham. 

Earlier  in  the  week,  when  Riverville  was  the 
boundary  of  her  interests,  a  letter  from  him  would 
have  had  scant  attention.  But  coming  at  this  time, 
when  a  homesick  mood  brought  the  old  life  so  viv 
idly  before  her  that  it  had  suddenly  become  very 
dear  and  desirable,  she  opened  it  eagerly.  It  was 
the  first  one  she  had  received  from  him,  for  she  had 
told  him  on  leaving  Lone-Rock  that  she  could  not 
correspond  with  him;  that  she  would  be  too  busy 
with  Mrs.  Blythe's  letters  to  write  many  of  her  own. 


"PINK"  OR  DIAMOND   ROW  237 

As  she  glanced  down  the  first  page  she  saw  why 
he  had  disregarded  her  wishes.  He  had  news  of 
such  great  importance  to  himself  that  he  naturally 
expected  her  to  take  a  friendly  interest  in  it.  She 
smiled  with  pleasure  as  she  read.  Good  old  Pink! 
He  deserved  to  have  things  come  his  way.  If  she 
hadn't  spent  so  much  for  the  relief  of  Diamond 
Row,  she  would  have  been  tempted  to  send  him  a 
telegram  of  congratulation.  It  would  please  him 
immensely,  she  knew.  A  mine  in  which  he  had  a 
small  amount  of  stock  that  was  regarded  as  almost 
worthless,  had  suddenly  proved  to  be  valuable,  and 
he  had  been  offered  so  much  for  his  shares  that  he 
could  buy  out  the  Company's  store  at  Lone-Rock 
and  build  a  house  bigger  and  better  in  every  way 
than  Mr.  Moredock's.  He  had  closed  the  deal  and 
bought  the  store,  and  he  would  build  the  house  if 
—  here  Mary  turned  another  page  —  if  she  would 
consent  to  become  Mrs.  Pinckney  Upham. 

Mary  sat  straight  up  in  bed,  the  better  to  reread 
this  startling  paragraph.  Her  face  colored  slowly 
as  she  rapidly  scanned  what  followed.  It  was  a 
manly  letter,  although  here  and  there  it  sounded  as 
if  phrases  and  whole  sentences  had  been  copied  from 
some  Guide  to  Etiquette  and  Social  Correspondence. 
She  had  filled  his  life  entirely  from  the  first  day 


238  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

of  their  acquaintance,  he  told  her.  She  had  been 
an  inspiration,  a  guiding  star  to  all  that  was  high 
and  noble.  He  loved  her  devotedly,  humbly  and 
more  greatly  than  any  woman  had  ever  been  loved 
before,  and  his  whole  life  should  be  given  to  making 
her  happy. 

When  she  had  finished,  Mary  lay  back  on  the  pil 
low  and  stared  out  of  the  window  into  the  branches 
of  a  sycamore  tree  that  leaned  across  it.  A  very 
tender  feeling  crept  up  into  her  heart  for  this  man 
who  was  offering  her  so  much.  She  had  not  real 
ized  before  what  a  beautiful,  what  a  solemn  thing 
it  was  to  be  counted  first  in  somebody's  life;  to 
know  ttjat  she  really  was  its  guiding  star,  its  in 
spiration.  At  this  distance  Pink's  little  mannerisms, 
which  had  always  annoyed  her,  shrank  out  of  sight, 
and  she  remembered  only  how  considerate  he  was, 
how  carefully  he  remembered  every  wish,  how  im 
portant  he  regarded  her  slightest  word.  It  would 
be  lovely  to  be  taken  care  of  always  by  one  who 
would  do  it  in  such  fashion;  to  be  shielded  and 
considered,  and  surrounded  with  every  comfort  that 
a  boundless  affection  could  suggest. 

Again  it  came  over  Mary  with  overwhelming 
force  how  good  it  would  be  to  go  back  to  the  clean, 
sweet  life  of  the  hills;  the  simple,  wholesome  coun- 


"PINK"   OR  DIAMOND   ROW  239 

try  life  that  she  loved,  and  never  again  have  to  help 
lift  the  burden  of  other  people's  poverty,  or  puzzle 
over  the  problem  of  their  wrongs.  For  a  little  space 
she  lay  and  imagined  what  it  would  <be  like  to  be 
back  in  Lone-Rock,  in  the  new  house  Pink  would 
build  for  her.  She  could  picture  that,  for  she  knew 
that  every  detail  would  be  planned  to  accord  with 
her  wishes,  and  she  could  see  just  the  way  it  would 
be  furnished,  and  how  she  would  make  it  the  centre 
of  hospitality  and  good  cheer  for  all  of  Lone-Rock; 
and  how  she  and  Betty  would  visit  back  and  forth, 
and  the  family  celebrations  they'd  have  on  anniver 
saries  and  holidays.  All  this  she  could  see  quite 
clearly  and  pleasantly.  She  could  even  s^pe  Pink 
on  the  other  side  of  a  little  table  spread  for  two, 
praising  her  muffins,  and  carefully  cutting  out  the 
choicest  parts  of  the  tenderloin  for  her.  She  was 
positive  he  would  do  both. 

That  might  be  very  pleasant  for  a  few  times,  but 
suppose  they  should  live  to  celebrate  their  silver 
wedding?  Alack  for  Pink,  that  a  mental  arith 
metic  problem  suddenly  popped  into  her  mind ! 

If  there  are  three  meals  in  one  day,  and  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  one  year,  in  twenty- 
five  years  through  how  many  meals  would  they  have 
to  sit  opposite  each  other?  She  did  not  try  to  mul- 


240  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

tiply  the  numbers,  only  whispered  in  a  sort  of 
groan,  "  there'd  be  thousands  and  thousands !  I 
don't  believe  I  could  stand  it,  for  no  matter  how 
good  and  kind  he  is,  there's  no  denying  it,  his  visits 
always  begin  to  bore  me  before  they're  half  over ! " 

She  got  up  and  began  to  dress  presently,  stopping 
twice  in  the  process  to  reread  the  letter,  once  with 
her  hair  hanging,  once  with  her  dress  slipped  half 
way  on.  She  wanted  to  make  sure  of  some  sen 
tences  which  she  could  not  entirely  recall. 

"  I  wonder  what  mamma  would  say,"  she 
thought,  wistfully.  She  walked  over  to  the  mantel, 
where  a  photograph  of  Mrs.  Ware  stood  in  a  silver 
frame.  It  was  one  which  Joyce  had  colored,  and 
was  so  life-like  that  Mary's  eyes  often  sought  it 
questioningly.  Now  she  leaned  towards  it,  gazing 
into  the  sweet  face  that  seemed  to  smile  helpfully 
back  at  her  until  she  found  the  answer  to  her  own 
question. 

'  You  always  liked  him,"  she  whispered.  "  You 
always  saw  the  best  in  him  and  made  excuses  for 
him.  You  would  have  been  so  happy  to  have  had 
me  settle  in  Lone-Rock  if  you  had  been  there.  But 
I  couldn't  care  for  him  as  you  did  for  papa,  and 
it  wouldn't  be  right  unless  I  did." 

She  did  not  answer  the  letter  then.     Just  as  she 


GAZING     INTO     THE     SWEET    FACE     THAT     SEEMED    TO 
SMILE    HELPFULLY    BACK    AT     HER." 


"PINK"   OR  DIAMOND   ROW  241 

was  sitting  down  to  supper  a  telephone  message 
came  from  Mrs.  Blythe,  saying  that  they  would 
call  for  her  in  a  little  while  to  take  her  out  on  the 
river  for  a  moonlight  ride.  Mary  was  glad  that 
the  excursion  was  on  one  of  the  big  steamboats 
instead  of  a  little  launch,  for  in  the  larger  party 
gathered  on  it,  no  one  noticed  when  she  wandered 
off  by  herself  and  sat  apart,  leaning  against  the  deck 
railing,  and  gazing  dreamily  over  the  shining  water. 
She  wanted  to  be  alone.  She  wanted  to  think  of 
some  way  to  answer  Pink,  which  would  hurt  him 
as  little  as  possible.  She  knew  just  how  he  would 
stride  into  the  post-office  and  unlock  the  drawer 
that  held  her  letter,  and  how  his  face  would  brighten 
when  he  saw  it.  He  always  did  show  so  plainly 
everything  he  felt.  And  then  the  grim  hurt  look 
would  come  into  his  eyes,  and  she  knew  just  how 
his  mouth  would  straighten  into  a  grim  line  when 
he  read  it.  Oh,  for  his  sake  she  wished  that  she 
didn't  have  to  tell  him  that  what  he  wanted  with 
all  his  good,  big,  generous  heart  could  never  be. 

Was  it  the  band  playing  Kathleen  Mavourneen, 
or  was  it  something  else  that  suddenly  made  her 
think  of  Phil  and  her  parting  promise  to  him  at 
Bauer.  Some  one  had  come  asking  her  to  join  his 
trail,  just  as  Phil  had  prophesied,  but  she  needn't 


242  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

keep  her  promise  in  this  case,  because  there  was 
only  one  answer  possible.  She  would  stick  to  her 
own  trail  and  go  on  her  way  alone.  But  —  there 
was  a  queer  little  thrill  of  comfort  in  the  thought  — 
somehow  it  was  nice  to  know  that  somebody  wanted 
you,  and  that  you  didn't  have  to  be  an  old  maid. 
She  would  keep  that  letter  always,  her  first  and, 
probably,  her  last  proposal. 

Again  the  band  was  repeating  that  refrain  of 
Kathleen  Mavourneen,  and  the  notes  rang  out  trem 
ulously  sweet  over  the  water : 

"  Oh,  why  art  thou  silent,  thou  voice  of  my  heart?  " 

She  recalled  the  scrap  of  music  Phil  had  torn 
out  and  sent  to  her  with  that  question  on  it,  and 
that  suggested  the  other  song,  Bonnie  Eloise,  whose 
name  he  had  given  to  the  girl  with  the  greyhound. 
She  wondered  if  Phil  ever  wrote  to  her  now. 
Maybe  at  this  very  moment  he  was  sitting  in  his 
bachelor  quarters  down  in  Mexico,  looking  out  at 
the  moonlight  and  dreaming  about  Eloise.  She 
hoped  not,  for  somehow,  without  cause  or  reason, 
she  had  conceived  a  strong  dislike  for  her. 

Some  friends  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  came  hunting 
Mary  just  then,  to  carry  her  off  to  the  hurricane 
deck,  where  something  of  especial  interest  was 


"PINK"  OR  DIAMOND   ROW  243 

going  on.  There  was  no  more  time  for  serious 
meditation,  and  the  combination  of  youth  and  mirth 
and  moonlight  worked  its  magical  charm.  By  the 
time  the  boat  had  made  its  return  trip,  Mary  was 
restored  to  her  usual  normal  self,  and  to  the  equa 
nimity  that  the  heat  and  the  slums  and  Pink's  letter 
had  upset.  When  the  lights  of  the  town  streamed 
out  across  the  river  to  meet  them,  she  was  rested 
and  refreshed,  ready  to  take  up  the  next  day's  work 
with  her  usual  enthusiasm. 

It  was  late  when  she  reached  home,  but  her  long 
sleep  in  the  afternoon  made  her  wakeful,  and  she 
sat  up  till  after  midnight  trying  to  compose  a  sat 
isfactory  answer  to  Pink's  letter.  It  was  a  depress 
ing  task,  and  she  tore  up  page  after  page,  in  her 
effort  to  make  her  refusal  as  kind  as  possible,  and 
yet  to  make  him  understand  that  it  was  final. 

When  it  was  finished  and  sealed  she  drew  another 
envelope  towards  her,  intending  to  address  it  to 
Phil.  Then  she  hesitated  and  pushed  it  aside,  say 
ing: 

"  I'd  better  wait  until  I'm  in  a  more  cheerful 
frame  of  mind.  If  I  write  now  it'll  be  so  full  of 
slums  and  disappointments  that  it'll  give  him  the 
doldrums." 


CHAPTER    V 

MARY    AND   THE    "  BIG   OPPORTUNITY  " 

THE  cheerful  frame  of  mind  came  soon,  but  it 
was  nearly  a  month  before  that  letter  was  written. 
Unlike  the  others  which  preceded  it,  this  one  was 
not  thrust  under  the  rubber  band  that  held  the  many 
missives  from  "  The  Little  Vicar."  It  was  slipped 
into  Phil's  pocket;  for  the  package,  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  contents  of  the  private  drawer  in  his 
desk,  reposed  in  the  bottom  of  his  trunk.  His  work 
in  Mexico  was  done  and  he  was  starting  back  to 
the  States. 

He  had  expected  to  buy  his  ticket  straight 
through  to  New  York,  and  retrace  his  steps  as  far 
as  Lloydsboro  Valley  later.  Rob  Moore  had  writ 
ten  him  that  Lloyd  was  arranging  for  a  house- 
party  during  the  Thanksgiving  holidays,  and  that 
he  and  Alex  Shelby  and  Mary  Ware  were  to  be 
included  among  the  guests,  and  for  him  to  make 
his  plans  accordingly. 

Mary's  letter   also  mentioned   this   house-party. 

244 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     245 

She  had  been  invited  but  could  not  accept.  She 
had  been  too  extravagant  the  month  before,  she 
told  him  in  a  joking  way. 

"  I  have  squandered  my  princely  income  on  paltry 
trifles,  and  now  must  pay  the  penalty.  I  must  see 
the  door  of  Paradise  slam  in  my  face  and  shut  me 
away  into  outer  darkness.  But,  seriously,  even  if 
I  could  afford  the  trip,  I  could  not  take  so  much 
time.  Mrs.  Blythe  needs  me.  We  are  straining 
every  nerve  to  accomplish  certain  things  before  the 
next  session  of  the  Legislature,  when  the  bill  for 
better  housing  is  to  be  brought  up.  Oh,  I  am  sure 
that  you  understand,  knowing  how  I  love  the  Val 
ley  and  the  blessed  people  in  it,  that  a  house-party 
at  Oaklea,  just  that  alone,  would  be  little  short  of 
heaven  for  me.  But  to  meet  the  Best  Man  there, 
and  Kitty  Walton  and  Katie  Mallard  and  all  the 
rest  —  well,  I  can't  talk  about  it  calmly.  The 
thought  of  missing  it  is  too  grievous  to  mention  in 
public.  Enough  said.  Only  the  lonely  pillow  and 
the  midnight  hour  shall  hear  my  plaint. 

"  I  couldn't  possibly  bear  the  disappointment  if 
we  were  not  so  busy.  Mrs.  Blythe  is  massing  her 
forces  like  a  major-general,  and  I  am  too  deeply 
interested  in  the  fight  to  let  my  personal  affairs 
stand  in  the  way.  Three  months  ago,  in  my  inno- 


246  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

cence  and  ignorance,  I  could  not  have  believed  that 
any  fight  would  be  necessary.  I  would  have  taken 
it  for  granted  that  all  one  had  to  do  was  to  put  the 
plain  facts  before  the  public  and  show  what  a  dan 
ger  and  disgrace  such  houses  are  to  a  community, 
and  it  would  rise  up  of  its  own  accord  to  change 
conditions.  .  I  was  utterly  amazed  when  I  found 
that  there  are  respectable  men  who  not  only  will 
do  nothing  to  help,  but  will  throw  all  their  weight 
on  the  other  side,  and  spend  hundreds  of  dollars 
to  prevent  the  passage  of  such  a  law. 

"  And  I've  learned  a  lot  about  politics,  too.  I've 
come  to  see  that  it's  just  a  great,  greedy  hand,  reach 
ing  out  to  get  the  best  of  everything  for  itself. 
You  don't  see  how  it  could  want  to  interfere  with 
anything  like  giving  people  decenter  houses  to  live 
in,  and  wiping  the  causes  of  disease  out  of  the  world, 
but  it  does,  and  it  dips  in  just  where  you'd  least 
expect  it.  That  is  why  Mrs.  Blythe  is  so  anxiously 
watching  the  results  of  the  city  election,  which  is 
to  be  held  next  week. 

"  Mr.  Stoner,  the  owner  of  Diamond  Row,  is 
one  of  the  candidates  for  office,  and  if  he  gets  in 
he'll  have  it  in  his  power  to  pull  lots  of  wires  against 
us  in  the  Legislature.  There  is  almost  no  hope  of 
defeating  him.  Don't  think  that  Mrs.  Blythe  has 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     247 

gone  in  personally  for  politics  or  anything  like  that, 
because  she  hasn't.  But  she  has  waked  up  a  lot 
of  influential  people  to  work  for  her  cause,  and  in 
duced  one  of  the  foremost  men  in  the  senate  to 
introduce  the  bill.  Also  she  has  managed  to  get 
an  invitation  to  explain  it  all  to  a  big  audience  that 
will  be  in  the  Opera  House  next  week,  before  the 
election. 

"  We  are  so  excited  over  that,  for  it  is  one  of 
the  Big  Opportunities  that  we  hope  will  count  for 
a  great  deal.  She  has  a  love  of  a  new  gown  to 
wear,  and  a  big  black  hat  with  plumes,  and  her 
speech  is  certainly  soul-stirring.  I  wish  you  could 
hear  her.  It's  nothing  but  '  the  short  and  simple 
annals  of  the  poor,'  but  when  she  gets  done  there 
won't  be  '  a  dry  eye  in  the  house.'  That's  the  high 
est  praise  that  the  Riverville  Herald  can  give,  and 
it  gives  it  to  her  so  often  that  it  has  become  a  house 
hold  joke  at  the  Blythes." 

When  Phil  slipped  this  letter  into  his  pocket  he 
had  changed  his  mind  about  buying  a  ticket  to  New 
York.  He  had  decided  to  take  a  roundabout  route 
by  way  of  Riverville,  with  the  privilege  of  a  short 
stop-over.  He  intended  that  Mary  should  be  one 
of  the  guests  at  the  house-party,  and  he  knew  that 
the  only  way  to  persuade  her  was  to  go  in  person 


248  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

and  answer  each  objection  as  it  was  raised.  She 
had  written  jokingly  of  her  disappointment,  h>ut 
her  very  effort  to  make  light  of  it  seemed  pa 
thetic  to  him,  and  showed  him  how  deeply  she 
felt  it. 

All  the  way  up  from  Mexico  his  thoughts  kept 
drifting  back  to  her.  He  wondered  if  he  would 
find  her  greatly  changed.  She  had  passed  through 
so  much  in  the  time  he  had  been  away,  yet  he  was 
sure  that  he  would  find  her  the  same  sturdy,  val 
iant  little  soul  that  had  challenged  his  admiration 
when  she  was  a  child.  He  wondered  what  effect 
her  mother's  death  had  had  upon  her,  and  what 
had  been  the  outcome  of  her  association  with  a 
woman  like  Mrs.  Blythe,  one  who  made  addresses 
in  public.  He  hoped  that  Mary  wouldn't  imbibe 
any  strong-minded,  women's  rights  notions  to  de 
tract  from  her  feminine  charm.  He  was  glad  she 
had  mentioned  so  enthusiastically  the  "  love  of  a 
gown,  and  the  big,  black  plumed  hat "  that  Mrs. 
Blythe  was  to  wear. 

It  would  take  a  great  deal  to  eradicate  Mary's 
love  of  pretty  clothes.  That  trait  of  hers  had  al 
ways  amused  him.  He  recalled  more  than  one  Sun 
day  at  Ware's  Wigwam  when  she  insisted  on  put 
ting  on  her  "  rosebud  sash  "  to  wear  walking  on  the 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     249 

desert,  when  there  was  nothing  but  the  owls  and 
the  jack-rabbits  to  take  notice.  And  he  recalled  the 
big  hat-box  she  had  squeezed  into  the  automobile 
that  day  in  New  York,  when  he  took  the  girls  out 
to  the  Wayside  Inn,  and  how  blissfully  she  peeped 
at  the  lilac-trimmed  concoction  within  from  time  to 
time. 

A  hot  box  delayed  Phil's  train  awhile  on  the  first 
day  of  his  journey,  and  a  disabled  eaigine  on  an 
other,  so  that  he  missed  the  St.  Louis  connection, 
and  was  a  day  late  getting  into  Riverville.  It  hap 
pened  most  unfortunately  for  his  plans  and  the 
limited  time  he  had  to  spare,  that  it  was  the  very 
day  of  the  "  Big  Opportunity,"  when  Mrs.  Blythe 
was  to  speak  in  the  Opera  House,  to  a  crowd  which 
would  assemble  to  hear  several  other  speakers,  one 
of  national  importance. 

Phil  did  not  discover  this  until  after  he  had 
reached  the  hotel.  He  wanted  his  meeting  with 
Mary  to  be  as  great  a  surprise  to  her  as  it  had  been 
the  day  he  met  her  coming  across  the  field  of  bluet- 
bonnets  in  Bauer.  But  he  also  wanted  to  be  sure 
of  finding  her  at  home  when  he  called.  So  while 
he  waited  for  his  late  luncheon  to  be  served,  he 
walked  into  the  telephone  booth  and  called  up  the 
boarding-house.  Mrs.  Crum  took  his  message,  with 


250  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

the  answer  that  Miss  Ware  had  not  been  at  the 
house  for  over  a  week.  She  had  been  so  busy  that 
she  was  spending  her  nights  as  well  as  her  days 
with  Mrs.  Blythe,  and  probably  would  not  return 
to  her  room  for  another  week.  She  advised  him 
to  call  up  Mr.  Dudley  Blythe's  residence. 

The  maid  answered  his  ring  at  that  place,  and 
asked  that  he  leave  a  message  for  Mrs.  Blythe, 
who  was  resting  and  could  not  be  disturbed,  as  she 
was  to  speak  at  the  Opera  House  in  a  little  while. 
Miss  Ware?  No,  the  maid  could  not  say  where 
she  was,  but  had  heard  her  say  something  had  hap 
pened  which  called  her  down  on  Myrtle  Street.  She 
knew  that  Mrs.  Blythe  had  arranged  to  meet  her 
there  in  her  auto  on  her  way  to  the  Opera  House. 
Probably  they  would  be  back  about  six  o'clock. 

Phil  hung  up  the  receiver  impatiently.  He  hadn't 
come  all  the  way  from  Mexico  to  listen  to  a  speech 
on  housing  reform,  but,  under  the  circumstances, 
he  had  no  other  choice  if  he  was  to  find  Mary 
before  dark.  Then  he  laughed  outright,  thinking 
of  her  amazement  if  she  should  happen  to  catch 
sight  of  him  in  the  audience.  He  supposed  she 
would  naturally  sit  near  the  front,  and  he  could 
easily  locate  her.  He  didn't  dare  run  the  risk  of 
suddenly  sitting  down  beside  her.  One  never  knew 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     251 

what  Mary  would  say  or  do  when  very  much  sur 
prised.  It  would  be  better  to  send  an  usher  with 
a  note,  asking  her  to  meet  him  at  the  entrance  and 
then  —  well,  Mary  should  decide  how  and  where 
they  should  spend  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to 
gether.  It  was  a  chilly,  gray  day  in  early  Novem 
ber,  a  trifle  cold  either  for  an  auto  spin  or  a  ride 
on  the  river.  But  they  must  go  to  some  place 
where  they  could  have  a  long,  uninterrupted  talk, 
and  he  could  tell  her  all  he  had  come  to  Riverville 
to  say. 

With  his  pulses  quickening  at  the  thought,  he 
left  the  hotel  for  a  brisk  walk  along  the  river,  until 
time  to  go  to  the  place  of  meeting. 

Meanwhile  Mary  was  having  an  exciting  ex 
perience  down  at  Diamond  Row.  A  message  had 
called  her  there  just  as  they  arose  from  the  lunch- 
table. 

"  Oh,  why  couldn't  it  have  come  sooner,"  she 
mourned,  "  before  I  was  all  dressed  up  so  spick 
and  span  for  your  grand  speechifying  occasion?  I 
always  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  be  fumigated  when  I 
come  back  from  there.  More  than  likely  it's  just 
another  complaint  that  old  Mrs.  Donegan  wants 
to  lodge  against  the  universe.  She  seems  to  think 
lately  that  it  owes  her  a  special  grudge,  and  that  my 


252  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

ears  are  Heaven-ordained  funnels  for  her  to  pour 
her  troubles  into." 

But  it  was  not  Mrs.  Donegan's  troubles  this  time 
which  summoned  her,  although  that  excitable  old 
woman  met  her,  crying  and  wringing  her  hands. 
It  was  for  a  neighbor's  misfortunes  that  she  in 
voked  Mary's  aid.  Dena  Barowsky,  a  frail  girl  in 
the  room  above  hers,  who  supported  a  family  by 
her  work  in  the  factory,  had  had  a  bad  fall. 

"  Both  legs  broken  and  all  hurted  inside  she  is ! " 
wailed  Mrs.  Donegan,  eager  to  be  the  first  to  tell 
the  bad  news. 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Mary.  "Where  did  it 
happen?  At  the  factory?" 

Half  a  dozen  eager  voices  interrupted  each  other 
to  tell  her.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  inmates  of  the 
tenement  had  gathered  on  the  stairs  and  the  land 
ing  to  discuss  the  accident  in  sympathizing  little 
groups.  It  was  something  which  might  have  hap 
pened  to  any  one  of  them.  Dena  Barowsky  had 
come  home  from  the  factory  at  noon  to  fix  a  bite 
and  sup  for  her  old  father,  who  was  worse  than 
usual,  and  while  going  down  the  rickety  stairs  to 
the  cellar  for  some  reason,  had  fallen.  A  loose 
board  had  tripped  her,  so  that  she  pitched  against 
the  bannister,  which  was  so  rotten  that  it  broke 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     253 

under  her  weight,  and  she  fell  headlong  into  the 
cellar. 

A  doctor  was  in  the  room  with  her  now,  exam 
ining  to  find  how  badly  she  was  hurt,  Mrs.  Donegan 
explained.  The  saints  only  knew  what  would  be 
come  of  the  family  if  it  should  be  so  that  she  was 
laid  up  long.  Her  father  was  bedridden,  and  her 
mother  so  queer  in  her  head  that  she  did  nothing 
but  sit  in  a  corner  and  mutter  to  herself  all  day 
long.  Luckily  there  wasn't  more  than  a  foot  of 
water  in  the  cellar,  and  they  got  her  out  right  away. 
It  had  been  half  full  when  little  Terence  Reilly 
fell  in,  for  that  was  the  time  of  the  backwater  in 
the  spring  freshets. 

Following  half  a  dozen  self-appointed  guides, 
Mary  picked  her  way  to  the  stairway  and  looked 
down.  The  broken  piece  of  rotten  timber,  the  ga 
ping  hole  in  the  splintered  bannister,  the  dark  gleam 
of  the  water  beneath,  told  their  own  story.  One 
long,  horrified  look  was  enough  for  Mary.  The 
others  hung  over  the  spot  as  if  it  held  some  unex- 
plainable  fascination,  pointing  out  the  step  which 
tripped  her  first,  the  rusty  nail  to  which  still  clung 
a  shred  of  her  dress  torn  out  in  falling,  the  jagged 
splinter  that  must  have  been  the  one  which  made 
the  gash  in  her  face. 


254  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

With  a  shudder  Mary  turned  away  and  asked  to 
be  taken  to  Dena's  room.  At  the  opening  of  the 
door  a  strong  odor  of  anaesthetics  rose  above  the 
mouldy  smell  of  the  unventilated  apartment,  which 
was  made  still  closer  by  the  inquisitive  neighbors 
whom  the  doctor's  orders  had  not  been  able  to  bar 
out.  Despite  his  sternness  they  gathered  in  the 
corners,  watching  the  white-faced  girl  on  the  bed. 
She  was  moaning,  though  unconscious.  This  was 
not  the  first  time  Mary  had  met  the  young  doctor 
in  such  places.  He  looked  up  with  evident  relief 
at  her  entrance. 

"  It's  a  case  for  a  district  nurse,"  he  said,  when 
he  had  explained  briefly  in  a  low  tone  the  serious 
ness  of  the  injuries.  He  spoke  purposely  in  med 
ical  terms  so  that  the  old  father,  sobbing  childishly 
on  the  opposite  bed,  could  not  understand  the  grav 
ity  of  the  situation. 

"  I'll  find  the  nurse  at  once  and  send  her  just 
as  soon  as  possible,"  promised  Mary.  "  I  can  tele 
phone  from  the  corner  grocery." 

She  hurried  out,  thankful  for  the  Organized 
Charities  which  made  such  help  possible,  and  re 
membering  with  a  queer  mixture  of  resentment  and 
gratitude  that  it  was  the  owner  of  this  disgraceful 
Diamond  Row,  Mr.  S  toner  himself,  who  had  made 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     255 

such  a  generous  contribution  to  the  Association  that 
they  were  able  to  hire  an  extra  nurse  for  this  part 
of  town. 

"  If  he  had  only  gone  at  the  root  of  the  matter," 
wailed  Mary,  inwardly,  "  and  used  the  '  ounce  of 
prevention/  there  would  have  been  no  need  for  this 
great  *  pound  of  cure.'  There  wouldn't  have  been 
this  dreadful  accident" 

At  the  foot  of  the  landing  she  was  halted  again 
by  old  Mrs.  Donegan,  who  was  haranguing  an  in 
terested  crowd  while  she  waited  for  Mary's  appear 
ance.  She  was  waving  a  time-yellowed  and  tattered 
newspaper  in  their  faces,  and  calling  attention  to 
the  headlines  and  pictures  on  the  front  page. 

"  We  want  you  should  take  it  to  Mrs.  Blythe, 
and  let  her  put  it  in  the  great  speech  she'll  be  after 
making  this  day.  The  whole  town  ought  to  know 
what  happened  this  ten  years  gone  on  account  of 
that  same  stairway.  Mrs.  Reilly  didn't  want  to 
let  the  paper  go.  She  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of 
losing  that  picture  of  little  Terence.  But  I  took 
it  from  her,  and  told  her  you'd  never  let  it  out  of 
your  hands  till  you  brought  it  back  safe  to  her. 
That  it  was  for  the  good  of  us  all  you'd  be  us 
ing  it." 

The  telephone  was  in  use  when  Mary  entered  the 


256  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

grocery,  and  while  she  waited  for  her  turn,  she 
glanced  through  the  paper  that  Mrs.  Donegan  had 
thrust  into  her  hands.  She  had  already  seen  the 
marked  account  of  the  funeral  on  one  of  her  visits 
to  old  Mrs.  Reilly,  for  she  had  been  asked  on  that 
trying  occasion  to  read  it  aloud;  but  she  had  not 
read  until  now  the  article  on  the  opposite  page, 
which  gave  a  graphic  description  of  the  tenement 
in  which  the  accident  occurred,  and  which  indig 
nantly  called  attention  to  the  criminal  negligence 
which  had  caused  the  death  of  a  tenant.  No  names 
were  given,  but  Mary  knew  that  Burke  Stoner 
owned  the  premises. then,  and  that  in  the  ten  years 
he  had  collected  nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars  in 
rents  from  the  inmates  of  Diamond  Row.  She 
had  been  busy  collecting  statistics  as  well  as  other 
kinds  of  information  since  her  first  interview  with 
his  agent,  and  the  recording  angel  was  not  the  only 
one  who  had  a  long  list  of  black  figures  set  down 
against  his  name.  Mary  kept  hers  on  a  page  by 
itself  in  a  neat  little  memorandum  book,  biding  her 
time  to  sound  the  promised  trumpet  before  him. 

It  was  a  very  grim  and  determined  Mary  who 
came  out  of  the  corner  grocery  five  minutes  later. 
She  had  been  able  to  locate  the  nurse  much  sooner 
than  she  expected  to,  and  was  on  her  way  back  to 


MARY  AND   THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     257 

Dena's  room  to  report  that  help  was  coming.  And 
when  a  little  later  the  honk  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  ma 
chine  sounded  at  the  curbstone  in  front  of  Diamond 
Row,  she  climbed  into  her  seat  beside  her  friend 
without  a  glance  at  the  new  gown  and  the  picture 
hat  she  was  wearing  for  the  first  time.  That  omis 
sion  in  itself  showed  Mrs.  Blythe  that  something 
was  wrong,  for  usually  Mary  was  keenly  interested 
in  her  appearance,  and  never  failed  to  express  her 
admiration  of  anything  which  she  especially  ad 
mired. 

"What's  gone  wrong?"  asked  Mrs.  Blythe,  as 
they  whirled  around  a  corner  and  turned  into  a 
pleasanter  part  of  the  town. 

For  once  Mary  waited  before  speaking,  taking 
a  deep  breath  and  pressing  her  lips  tightly  together. 
Then  she  answered  in  a  tense  way: 

"I  feel  as  if  I'd  (witnessed  a  murder!  I  can't 
get  poor  Dena's  moans  out  of  my  ears,  nor  the 
sight  of  that  broken  stairway  with  the  water  under 
neath  out  of  my  mind ! "  Then  reminded  by  the 
perplexed  expression  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  face  that  she 
was  talking  in  riddles,  she  gave  an  account  of  the 
accident,  and  repeated  old  Mrs.  Donegan's  plea  that 
the  story  of  the  staircase  with  its  double  tragedy 
be  told  that  afternoon,  in  order  that  public  senti- 


258  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

ment  might  be  aroused  in  behalf  of  the  people  of 
the  tenements. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  Mr.  Stoner  himself  who  fell 
through  those  rotten  stairs !  "  stormed  Mary,  her 
face  white  with  indignation  and  her  eyes  blazing 
angrily.  "  I  never  felt  such  a  mighty  wrath  rise  up 
in  me  before !  I  could  stop  right  here  on  the  street 
corner  and  call  out  his  name  so  all  the  town  could 
hear.  I'd  like  to  shout  '  Here's  your  model  citizen ! 
Here's  the  kind,  benevolent  man  who  buys  your 
praise  with  his  gifts  to  the  poor.  Look  what  he  has 
done  for  the  Reillys  and  for  Dena ! '  It  isn't  as  if 
he  didn't  know  what  condition  the  place  is  in.  He'd 
been  warned  that  the  steps  -were  unsafe,  even  be 
fore  the  first  accident.  And  to  think  he  let  it  go 
on  ten  years  after  it  had  been  condemned  and  cost 
one  life  —  " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  finding  words  futile  to  ex 
press  her  feelings,  and  Mrs.  Blythe,  taking  the 
crumpled  sheet,  hastily  scanned  it.  They  were  turn 
ing  into  Main  Street  when  she  finished,  and  with 
a  glance  at  the  clock  in  the  front  of  the  car  she 
told  the  chauffeur  to  go  around  by  Mr.  Blythe's 
office. 

"  It  may  make  us  a  little  late  for  the  first  speech," 
she  said,  "  but  I  must  ask  Mr.  Blythe's  advice.  I 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     259 

shall  tell  this  story  of  the  two  accidents  of  course. 
It  will  illustrate  one  point  I  am  trying  to  make 
better  than  anything  else  I  could  say.  But  I  don't 
know  how  personal  I  ought  to  make  it.  It  would 
be  a  centre  shot  at  the  enemy,  and  might  help  to 
defeat  Stoner  in  the  election  day  after  to-morrow 
if  I  could  mention  him  by  name,  and  emphasize  the 
big  rents  he  collects  from  those  working  girls  and 
factory  men,  but  it  may  not  be  wise  for  me  to  do  it, 
in  the  interest  of  the  bill.  It  might  antagonize  all 
his  party,  as  he  is  one  of  the  most  influential  of 
the  local  bosses.  I  must  ask  Mr.  Blythe  just  how 
far  I  can  go." 

Two  minutes  later  they  stopped  at  the  office, 
and  Mary,  watching  from  her  seat  in  the  car,  saw 
Mrs.  Blythe  go  in  and  the  stenographer  rise  hur 
riedly  from  her  desk  beside  the  big  front  window, 
and  come  forward.  Evidently  what  she  was  telling 
Mrs.  Blythe  was  very  unexpected  and  agitating,  for 
she  came  out  looking  pale  and  frightened,  and  spoke 
only  the  one  word,  "  Home,"  as  she  sank  back 
limply  in  her  seat. 

"  Dudley  was  taken  suddenly  ill  a  little  while 
ago,"  she  explained  in  hurried  gasps.  "  Miss  Nellie 
says  it  was  something  like  an  apoplectic  stroke. 
They  have  been  telephoning  everywhere  to  find  me. 


200  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

It  must  have  happened  just  as  I  left  the  house. 
They  have  taken  him  home  in  an  ambulance. 
Hurry,  Hardy!" 

Except  for  Mary's  shocked  exclamation  of  sym 
pathy  and  alarm,  no  word  was  spoken  until  the 
house  was  reached.  Mary  ran  up  the  stairs  with 
Mrs.  Blythe,  stood  a  moment  in  the  upper  hall  when 
the  other  left  her,  and  then  went  on  to  the  alcove 
at  the  end,  which  had  been  fitted  up  as  a  little  office. 
There  she  sat  down  to  wait.  Three  physicians,  per 
sonal  friends  of  Dudley  Blythe,  were  in  the  room 
with  him.  The  housemaid  was  running  back  and 
forth  getting  what  was  necessary,  and  the  next  door 
neighbor  had  come  in. 

There  was  nothing  that  Mary  could  do,  and  the 
moments  of  waiting  seemed  endless.  A  programme 
of  the  afternoon's  meeting  lay  on  the  desk,  and 
from  time  to  time  she  glanced  at  it  nervously,  and 
then  at  the  clock.  The  time  for  the  first  speech 
passed.  The  second  one  must  have  been  well  under 
way  when  Mrs.  Blythe  came  out  into  the  hall  and 
saw  her  sitting  in  the  alcove.  Mary  started  up  and 
went  towards  her  impulsively,  both  hands  out. 

"  Oh,  isn't  there  something  I  can  do  ?  "  she  whis 
pered. 

"  Not  in  there,"  was  the  answer  in  a  low  tone. 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     26i 

"  The  doctors  give  me  every  encouragement  to  be 
lieve  that  he  will  come  out  of  this  all  right,  but  I 
don't  know  —  I'm  so  frightened  and  upset." 

She  passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  as  if  trying 
to  remember  something,  then  exclaimed,  "  It's  just 
come  to  me!  I  had  forgotten  about  that  meeting. 
It's  almost  time  for  me  to  go  on  to  speak,  but,  of 
course,  I  can't  do  that  now.  I  couldn't  leave  him 
in  the  critical  condition  he  is  in,  no  matter  what  is 
at  stake.  There's  only  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  is 
to  send  you  in  my  place.  You'll  have  to  go,  Mary, 
and  tell  them  why  I  couldn't  come,  and  explain  what 
it  is  that  —  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Blythe !  "  interrupted  Mary,  aghast. 
"  I  couldn't!  I  couldn't  possibly!  There's  not  a 
moment  to  prepare  for  it !  " 

"  But  you  must,"  was  the  answer  in  a  tone  so 
firm  and  compelling  that  it  brooked  no  denial. 

"  There's  no  other  way  out  —  you  know  every 
phase  of  the  situation.  You've  explained  it  over 
and  over  in  your  letters  and  to  small  audiences. 
Your  sympathies  have  just  been  worked  up  to  white 
heat  by  Dena's  accident  —  Oh,  you're  splendidly 
prepared,  and  you  can't  fail  me  now,  Mary.  Not 
at  a  time  like  this !  " 

Her  voice  broke  and   the  tears   came  into  her 


262  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

eyes,  at  which  sight  Mary  drew  one  deep  breath  and 
surrendered. 

"  Well  —  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  she  promised, 
''  but  I've  barely  time  to  get  there." 

With  one  squeeze  of  the  hands  which  she  had 
caught  in  hers,  Mrs.  Blythe  released  her,  saying 
gratefully,  "  Oh,  I  knew  you  wouldn't  fail  me ! 
Go  —  and  Godspeed !  " 

Breathless,  speechless,  Mary  found  herself  climb 
ing  into  the  automobile,  with  a  dazed  feeling,  as 
if  some  one  had  sounded  an  alarm  of  fire  and  she 
was  blindly  fumbling  her  way  through  smoke.  In 
a  vague  way  she  was  conscious  that  she  was  facing 
one  of  the  big  moments  of  her  life,  and  she  won 
dered  why,  when  she  needed  to  centre  all  her 
thoughts  on  the  ordeal  that  confronted  her,  they 
should  slip  backward  to  a  trivial  thing  that  had 
happened  years  ago  at  Lloydsboro  Valley. 

It  was  at  the  tableau  at  The  Beeches,  when  the 
curtain  was  rising  on  the  scene  of  Elaine  the  Lily 
Maid,  lying  on  her  funeral  barge,  in  her  right  hand 
the  lily,  in  her  left  the  letter.  Miss  Casey,  the 
reader,  had  lost  her  copy  of  the  poem,  and  every 
thing  was  going  wrong  because  there  was  no  one 
to  explain  the  tableau,  and  Mary  sprang  to  the 
rescue.  She  could  hear  her  own  voice  ringing  out, 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     263 

beginning  the  story :  "  And  that  day  there  was  dole 
in  Astalot ! "  And  she  could  feel  the  Little  Colo 
nel's  arms  around  her  afterward,  as  she  cried, 
"  You  were  a  perfect  darling  to  save  the  day  that 
way."  And  Phil  had  come  up  and  called  her  a 
brick  and  the  heroine  of  the  evening.  Now  she 
wondered  why  that  scene  in  detail  should  come  back 
so  vividly,  until  something  seemed  to  tell  her  she 
was  to  take  it  as  a  sort  of  prophecy  that  she  was 
to  be  as  successful  in  her  second  rising  to  meet 
an  emergency  as  she  was  in  her  first. 

When  she  entered  the  side  door  of  the  hall,  the 
•speaker  whose  place  on  the  programme  immediately 
preceded  Mrs.  Blythe's  had  just  taken  his  seat  in 
the  midst  of  hearty  applause,  and  the  orchestra  had 
begun  a  short  selection.  In  the  shelter  of  some 
large  palms  at  the  side  of  the  stage  she  gave  the 
chairman  Mrs.  Blythe's  message,  and  sat  down  to 
wait.  The  orchestra  sounded  as  if  it  were  miles 
away.  She  had  often  used  the  expression,  a  sea  of 
faces.  As  she  looked  across  the  expanse  of  those 
upturned  before  her  now,  they  seemed  indeed  a  sea, 
and  took  on  a  wave-like  motion  that  made  her  dizzy. 
Then  she  happened  to  glance  down  at  the  little 
signet  ring  she  always  wore.  "  By  the  blood 
stone  on  her  finger  "  she  must  fail  not  in  prov- 


264  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

ing  that  undaunted  courage  was  the  jewel  of  her 
soul. 

When  she  looked  out  again,  through  the  screen  of 
palms,  she  could  distinguish  individual  faces  in  the 
great  mass.  There  was  Judge  Brown  and  Senator 
Ripley  and  Doctor  Haverhill.  And  down  in  front, 
at  the  reporters'  table,  was  Orphant  Annie.  She 
couldn't  help  smiling  as  she  anticipated  his  surprise 
when  he  should  see  her  taking  Mrs.  Blythe's  place. 
He  was  so  close  that  he  had  already  caught  sight  of 
her,  and  his  pale,  prominent  eyes  were  gazing  at  her 
with  a  solemn,  quizzical  expression  which  made  her 
smile.  The  thought  of  the  surprise  in  store  for 
him  steadied  her  nerves,  and  as  she  began  to  enjoy 
the  humor  of  the  situation,  gradually  the  loud 
knocking  at  her  heart  quieted.  The  buzzing  in  her 
ears  stopped.  Her  icy  cold  hands,  which  she  had 
been  holding  clenched,  relaxed  and  grew  warm 
again,  and  she  came  consciously  out  of  what  seemed 
to  be  a  waking  dream. 

Then  the  call  of  the  hour  marshalled  all  the  forces 
of  her  mind  in  orderly  array.  The  vital  words  to 
say,  the  vital  thing  to  do  stood  clearly  before  her. 
With  her  fear  all  gone  she  looked  out  across  the 
house  waiting  for  her  summons  to  speak.  When 
she  rose  it  was  with  Mrs.  Blythe's  "  Godspeed  " 


MARY  AND  THE  "BIG  OPPORTUNITY"     265 

giving  her  courage.  When  she  went  forward,  it 
was  with  the  exalted  feeling  of  a  soldier  into  whose 
hand  a  falling  general  has  thrust  a  sword,  and  com 
manded  him  to  take  a  rampart.  She  would  do  it 
or  die. 


CHAPTER    VI 

PHIL    WALKS    IN 

MEANWHILE,  Phil  Tremont,  on  the  outer  edge 
of  the  big  audience,  looked  in  vain  for  Mary  or  for 
some  one  answering  to  the  description  she  had  given 
of  Mrs.  Blythe.  Several  times  he  shifted  his  seat, 
slipping  farther  around  towards  the  stage.  In  one 
of  the  brief  intervals  between  speeches,  while  the 
orchestra  played,  he  questioned  an  usher,  and  found 
that  Mrs.  Blythe  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  that  when 
she  came  she  would  probably  wait  in  one  of  the 
wings  until  fime  to  be  introduced  to  the  audi 
ence. 

With  an  impatient  glance  at  his  watch  he  changed 
his  seat  once  more,  this  time  to  one  in  the  section 
nearest  the  stage,  but  still  in  a  back  row.  He 
wanted  to  make  sure  of  seeing  Mary  before  she 
could  see  him.  He  decided  that  if  she  did  not  make 
her  appearance  by  the  time  Mrs.  Blythe  arrived  he 
would  go  back  behind  the  scenes  and  look  for  her. 
Maybe  Mrs,  Blythe  would  station  her  there  some- 

266 


PHIL   WALKS  IN  267 

where  as  prompter,  for  fear  that  she  might  forget 
her  speech.  If  that  were  the  case  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  distract  the  prompter's  attention,  but  it  was 
a  greater  pity  that  the  few  hours  he  had  to  spend 
with  her  should  be  wasted  in  idle  waiting. 

Several  people  who  had  glanced  up  admiringly 
at  the  handsome  stranger  when  he  took  his  seat, 
watched  with  interest  his  growing  impatience.  It 
was  evident  that  he  was  anxiously  waiting  for  some 
one,  from  the  way  he  alternately  scanned  the  en 
trance,  looked  at  his  watch  and  referred  to  the  pro 
gramme.  When  Mrs.  Blythe's  name  on  it  was 
reached  he  leaned  forward,  clutching  the  back  of 
the  chair  in  front  of  him  impatiently  till  the  chair 
man  came  to  the  front  of  the  stage. 

The  next  instant  such  an  audible  exclamation  of 
surprise  broke  from  him  that  several  rows  of  heads 
were  turned  inquiringly  in  his  direction.  He  felt 
his  face  burn,  partly  from  having  attracted  so  much 
attention  to  himself,  partly  from  the  surprise  of  the 
moment.  For  following  the  chairman  came  not 
the  dainty  little  Mrs.  Blythe  in  her  love  of  a  new 
gown  and  the  big  plumed  hat,  but  Mary  herself. 
There  was  such  a  pounding  in  Phil's  ears  that  he 
scarcely  heard  the  chairman's  explanation  of  Mrs. 
Blythe's  absence,  and  his  announcement  that  Miss 


268  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

Ware  had  brought  a  message  from  her  to  which 
they  would  now  listen. 

Several  curious  emotions  possessed  him  in  turn, 
after  his  first  overwhelming  surprise.  One  was  a 
little  twinge  of  resentment  at  her  speaking  in  pub 
lic.  Not  that  he  was  opposed  to  other  women  doing 
it,  but  somehow  he  wished  that  she  hadn't  attempted 
it.  Then  he  felt  the  anxiety  and  sense  of  personal 
responsibility  one  always  has  when  a  member  of 
one's  own  family  is  in  the  limelight.  No  matter 
how  competent  he  may  be  to  rise  to  the  occasion, 
there  is  always  the  lurking  dread  that  he  may  fail 
to  acquit  himself  creditably. 

Phil  had  been  thinking  of  Mary  as  he  saw  her 
that  last  morning  in  Bauer,  all  a-giggle  and  a-dim- 
ple  and  aglow,  romping  around  the  kitchen  with 
Norman,  till  the  tinware  clattered  on  the  walls. 
But  it  was  a  very  different  Mary  who  faced  him 
now,  with  the  old  newspaper  in  her  hand  and  the 
story  of  Dena's  wrongs  burning  to  be  told  on  her 
lips.  It  is  proof  of  how  well  she  told  it  that  her 
opening  sentence  brought  a  hush  over  the  great 
audience  and  held  it  in  absolute  silence  to  the  end. 
And  yet  she  told  it  so  simply,  so  personally,  that 
it  was  as  if  she  had  merely  opened  a  door  into 
Diamond  Row  and  bidden  them  see  for  themselves 


PHIL    WALKS  IN  269 

the  windowless  rooms,  the  mouldy  walls,  the 
slimy  yards,  Elsie  Whayne  and  Dena,  and  the 
old  grandmother  fondling  the  sunny  curls  of  little 
Terence. 

When  she  finished,  old  Judge  Brown  was  wiping 
his  eyes,  and  portly  Doctor  Haverhill  was  adding 
to  the  general  din  of  applause  by  pounding  on  the 
floor  with  his  gold-headed  cane.  The  chairman 
rose  to  announce  the  last  speaker  on  the  programme, 
but  Phil  did  not  wait  for  anything  more.  He  had 
seen  Mary  pick  up  the  coat  which  she  had  left  hang 
ing  on  the  chair  behind  the  palms,  and  leave  the 
platform.  At  the  same  time  Sandford  Berry  started 
up  from  his  place  at  the  reporters'  table  and  hur 
ried  after  her. 

Immediately  Phil  slipped  from  his  seat  and 
dashed  down  the  aisle  along  the  side  wall,  to  the 
door  leading  into  one  of  the  wings.  Not  familiar 
with  the  back  exits,  he  stumbled  into  several  wrong 
passages  before  he  found  some  one  to  start  him  in 
the  right  direction.  Despite  his  haste,  when  he 
reached  the  street,  Mrs.  Blythe's  automobile  was 
just  whirling  away  from  the  curbstone,  and  Sand- 
ford  Berry  was  coming  back  from  putting  Mary 
into  it.  He  had  the  newspaper  in  his  hand  which 
she  had  brought  from  Diamond  Row.  It  was  for 


270  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

that  he  had  hurried  after  her,  promising  to  use  it 
to  good  advantage  and  return  it  to  her  in  the  morn 
ing.  She  had  refused  at  first,  remembering  old 
Mrs.  Donegan's  caution  not  to  let  it  out  of  her 
hands,  and  it  was  that  brief  parley  which  held  her 
long  enough  for  Phil  to  reach  the  street  and  catch 
a  fleeting  glimpse  of  her. 

He  looked  around  for  a  taxicab  or  a  carriage, 
but  there  was  none  in  sight.  A  policeman  on  the 
next  corner  directed  him  to  a  trolley  car,  and  told 
him  where  to  transfer  in  order  to  reach  Dudley 
Blythe's  residence.  As  he  swung  up  on  to  the  plat 
form  of  the  car  he  looked  at  his  watch  again.  It 
was  half-past  four  o'clock.  It  was  past  five  when 
he  reached  the  house.  A  tie-up  of  cars  on  the  track 
ahead  was  accountable  for  the  delay. 

Mary,  in  the  machine  and  by  a  more  direct  route, 
had  reached  home  nearly  half  an  hour  before.  She 
found  a  trained  nurse  in  attendance  on  Mr.  Blythe. 
He  had  regained  consciousness  and,  though  still 
unable  to  speak,  was  so  much  better  that  they  were 
sure  of  his  ultimate  recovery.  Mrs.  Blythe  came 
out  into  the  hall  to  tell  her  the  good  news. 

"  There's  no  need  to  ask  you  how  you  got 
through,"  she  exclaimed,  slipping  an  arm  around 
her  in  an  impulsive  embrace. 


PHIL    WALKS  IN  271 

"  I  know  you  did  splendidly,  and  I'll  be  in  your 
room  in  a  few  minutes  to  hear  all  about  it.  Now, 
run  along  and  lie  down  awhile.  You  look  so  white 
and  tired  —  no  wonder,  after  all  you've  been 
through  to-day." 

If  Mary  had  been  at  the  boarding-house  she 
would  have  thrown  herself  down  on  the  bed  and 
gone  without  her  supper.  She  felt  so  exhausted 
and  collapsed.  But  under  the  circumstances  she 
felt  that  the  obligations  of  a  guest  required  her  to 
keep  going.  The  evening  meal  was  always  some 
what  of  a  formal  affair  here,  but  she  decided  not 
to  dress  for  it  as  usual.  Mr.  Blythe's  illness  would 
change  everything  in  that  regard.  She  was  so  tired 
she  would  just  bathe  her  face  and  brush  her  hair 
while  she  still  had  energy  enough  to  move,  and  then 
would  stretch  out  in  the  big  lounging  chair  in  the 
firelight,  and  be  ready  for  Mrs.  Blythe  any  time  she 
might  happen  to  come  in.  It  took  only  a  few  mo 
ments  to  do  all  this,  and  just  as  she  finished,  Mrs. 
Blythe  came  in  with  a  cup  of  hot  tea. 

"  Drink  it  and  don't  say  a  word  until  you  have 
finished,"  she  ordered. 

Mary  obeyed  the  first  part,  sipping  the  tea  slowly 
as  she  lay  back  luxuriously  in  the  big  chair,  but  she 
couldn't  help  commenting  on  the  strange,  strange 


272  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

day  that  had  brought  so  many  unexpected  things 
to  pass. 

"  Isn't  it  a  blessed  good  thing,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  that  we  can't  know  when  we  get  up  in  the  morn 
ing  all  that  the  day  has  in  store  for  us?  You'd 
have  been  nearly  crazy  if  you'd  known  all  day  that 
Mr.  Blythe  was  going  to  have  that  stroke  of  paral 
ysis,  and  I'd  simply  have  gone  up  in  the  air  if  I 
had  dreamed  that  I  had  to  take  your  place  on  the 
programme.  Nothing  could  have  happened  that 
would  have  surprised  me  more." 

But  even  while  she  spoke  a  still  greater  surprise 
was  in  store  for  her.  Both  had  heard  the  doorbell 
ring  a  moment  before,  but  neither  had  paid  any 
attention  to  it.  Now  the  maid  came  in  with  a  mes 
sage  for  Mary. 

"  A  gentleman  in  the  library  to  see  you,  Miss 
Ware.  He  wouldn't  give  his  name.  He  just  said 
to  tell  you  that  he  was  an  old  friend  passing  through 
town,  and  that  he  couldn't  go  till  he  had  seen  you." 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  exclaimed  Mary,  pulling  her 
self  slowly  up  from  the  sleepy  hollow  chair,  much 
puzzled.  "  If  it's  an  old  friend,  it  must  be  some 
one  from  Lloydsboro  Valley.  Everybody  else  is 
too  far  away  to  drop  in  like  that.  But  why  didn't 
he  send  up  his  card,  I  wonder?  " 


PHIL    WALKS  IN  273 

"  Probably  because  he  wants  to  surprise  you," 
answered  Mrs.  Ely  the.  "If  it's  any  one  you'd  care 
to  invite  to  dinner,  feel  perfectly  free  to  do  so." 

With  a  word  of  thanks  and  a  hasty  peep  into  the 
mirror,  Mary  started  down  stairs,  wondering  at 
every  step  whom  she  would  find.  Time  had  been 
when  she  would  have  pictured  an  imaginary  suitor 
waiting  for  her  below,  for  it  had  been  one  of  her 
pastimes  when  she  was  a  child  to  manufacture 
such  mythical  personages  by  the  scora  What  they 
were  like  depended  on  what  she  had  just  been  read 
ing.  If  fairy-tales,  then  it  was  a  blond-haired 
prince  who  came  to  her  on  bended  knee  to  kiss  her 
hand  and  beg  her  to  fly  with  him  upon  his  coal- 
black  steed  to  his  castle.  If  she  had  been  dipping 
into  some  forbidden  novel  like  Lady  Agatha's  Ca 
reer,  then  the  fond  suppliant  was  a  haughty  duke 
whom  she  spurned  at  first,  but  graciously  accepted 
afterward.  Through  many  a  day-dream,  slender 
lads  and  swarthy  knights  in  armor,  dauntless  Sir 
Galahads  and  wicked  St.  Elmos  had  sued  for  her 
favor  in  turn,  with  long  and  fervent  speeches.  She 
did  not  know  that  there  was  any  other  way.  And 
it  had  always  been  in  moon-lighted  gardens  that 
these  imaginary  scenes  took  place,  with  nightin 
gales  singing  in  rose  vines  and  jessamine  arbors. 


274          MARY  WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

She  had  quit  dreaming  of  such  things  since  she 
came  to  Riverville.  Romance  had  little  place  in  the 
hard,  sad  world  with  which  her  work  brought  her 
in  contact.  So  no  such  fancies  passed  through  her 
mind  now  as  she  went  down  the  stairs ;  nothing  but 
a  keen  curiosity  to  know  which  of  her  old  friends 
it  was  who  waited  below. 

Dusk  had  fallen  early  that  gray  November  eve 
ning,  but  the  library  was  aglow  with  the  cheerful 
light  of  an  open  fire.  Some  one  stood  before  it, 
gazing  down  into  the  dancing  flames,  a  tall,  famil 
iar  figure,  broad-shouldered  and  erect.  There  was 
no  mistaking  who  it  was  waiting  there  in  the  gloam 
ing.  Only  one  person  in  all  the  world  had  that 
lordly  turn  of  the  head,  that  alert,  masterful  air, 
and  Mary  acknowledged  to  herself  with  a  disquiet 
ing  throb  of  the  pulses  that  he  was  the  one  person 
in  the  world  whom  of  all  others  she  wished  most 
to  see. 

"  Oh,  Phil ! "  she  cried  happily  from  the  door 
way. 

He  had  not  heard  her  coming  down  the  stairs 
and  along  the  hall,  so  softly  was  it  carpeted,  but  at 
the  call  he  turned  and  came  to  meet  her,  both  hands 
out,  his  handsome  face  suddenly  radiant,  as  if  the 
sight  of  her  brought  unspeakable  pleasure.  Not  a 


PHIL    WALKS  IN  275 

word  did  he  say  as  he  reached  out  and  took  her 
hands  in  his  and  looked  down  into  her  upturned 
face.  But  his  eyes  spoke.  Their  very  smile  was  a 
caress,  and  the  strong,  warm  hands  clasping-  hers 
closed  over  them  as  if  they  had  just  found  some 
thing  that  belonged  to  them  and  were  taking  un 
disputed  possession. 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  tell  her  all  that 
he  had  come  to  say.  She  felt  it  throbbing  through 
the  silence  that  was  as  solemn  as  a  sacrament. 
Their  eyes  looked  into  each  other's  searchingly. 
Then,  as  if  from  the  beginning  of  time  they  had 
been  moving  towards  this  meeting,  he  announced 
simply,  "  I've  come  for  you,  dear.  I'm  starting  on 
a  new  trail  now,  and  I  can't  go  without  you." 

If  that  first  hour  of  their  betrothal  had  little  need 
of  words,  there  was  call  for  much  speech  and  many 
explanations  before  he  bade  her  good  night.  Mary 
learned  first,  to  her  unbounded  amazement,  how 
near  he  had  come  to  asking  her  to  marry  him  more 
than  two  years  before,  when  he  parted  from  her 
in  Bauer. 

"  But  you  were  not  more  than  half-way  grown 
up  then,"  he  said.  "  I  realized  it  when  I  saw  you 
romping  around  with  Norman.  I  couldn't  say  any 
thing  then  because  it  didn't  seem  fair  to  you.  But 


276  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

I  had  to  bind  you  in  some  way.  That's  why  I  made 
you  promise  what  you  did  about  letting  me  know 
if  any  other  man  ever  crossed  your  trail.  I  wanted 
to  claim  you  then  and  there  and  make  sure  of  you, 
for  I've  always  felt  in  some  way  or  another  we 
belonged  to  each  other.  I've  felt  that  ever  since 
I  first  knew  you,  Little  Vicar." 

There  flashed  across  Mary's  mind  the  remem 
brance  of  a  conversation  she  had  overheard  on  the 
porch  at  The  Locusts  one  night,  and  of  Phil's  voice 
singing  to  Lloyd,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  guitar : 

"  Till  the  stars  are  old, 
And  the  sun  grows  cold, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  Judgment 
Book  unfold." 

But  if  the  faintest  spark  of  jealousy  glowed  in 
Mary's  heart,  it  was  extinguished  at  once  and  for 
ever  by  another  recollection  —  a  remark  of  Phil's 
as  they  once  waited  on  the  side-track  together,  go 
ing  up  to  Bauer  after  the  San  Jacinto  festival.  It 
was  just  after  she  had  confessed  to  the  unconscious 
eavesdropping  that  made  her  a  hearer  of  that 
song. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  time  will  always  be  one  of 
the  sweetest  and  most  sacred  of  my  memories. 
One's  earliest  love  always  is,  they  say,  like  the  first 


PHIL   WALKS  IN  277 

white  violet  in  the  spring.  But  —  there  is  always 
a  summer  after  every  spring,  you  know" 

Who  cares  for  one  little  violet  of  a  bygone  spring 
when  the  prodigal  wealth  of  a  whole  wonderful 
summertime  is  being  poured  out  for  one  ?  So  when 
Phil  said  again  musingly,  "  It  does  seem  strange, 
;how  we've  always  belonged  to  each  other,  doesn't 
it?  "  Mary  looked  up  with  a  twinkling  smile  to  say: 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise  with  Philip  and 
Mary  on  a  shilling?  "  And  then  she  showed  him 
the  old  English  shilling  which  she  wore  on  her 
watch-fob,  the  charm  which  she  had  drawn  from 
Eugenia's  wedding  cake.  To  Phil's  unbounded 
amusement  she  told  the  story  of  dropping  it  into 
the  contribution  plate  that  Christmas  service,  and 
getting  lost  in  the  streets  of  New  York  in  trying 
to  rescue  it  from  the  bank  where  it  had  been  taken 
for  deposit. 


CHAPTER   VII 

HER    GREAT    RENUNCIATION 

MARY  went  back  to  her  work  next  day,  but  not 
to  the  same  old  treadmill.  It  could  nesver  be  that 
again.  The  thought  that  Phil  was  waiting  for  her, 
working  to  provide  a  home  for  her,  glorified  the 
most  commonplace  day,  and  came  between  her  and 
her  most  disagreeabla  tasks.  It  was  uppermost  in 
her  mind  when  she  made  her  visits  to  the  tenements, 
and  often  caused  her  to  pause  and  ask  herself  why 
the  gods  had  picked  her  out  to  make  her  the  most 
blessed  among  mortals.  What  had  she  done  that 
life  should  bestow  so  much  more  on  her  than  it 
had  on  poor  Dena  and  Elsie  Whayne  ? 

Somehow  the  sharp  contrast  between  her  lot  and 
thedrs  hurt  her  more  each  time  that  it  was  forced 
upon  her  notice.  It  began  to  make  her  feel  per 
sonally  responsible,  if  not  for  the  difference  between 
them,  at  least  for  making  that  difference  less.  Why 
she  owed  it  to  them  to  do  anything  to  make  their 
lives  more  livable,  she  could  not  tell,  but  the  obli- 

278 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  279 

gation  to  do  so  weighed  upon  her  more  heavily 
every  day. 

Maybe  if  her  endeavors  had  not  been  so  effectual 
she  might  not  have  felt  the  obligation  so  keenly, 
but  she  could  not  fail  to  see  the  difference  that  her 
visits  made  to  the  families  in  the  Row.  Sometimes 
she  counted  over  the  things  she  accomplished,  as 
one  might  count  the  beads  of  a  rosary,  not  from 
any  sense  of  pride  in  what  she  had  done,  but  as 
a  sort  of  self-justification;  asking  herself,  since  she 
had  done  that  much,  could  more  be  reasonably  ex 
pected. 

It  was  through  her  efforts  that  Dena  was  sent  to 
a  hospital  and  some  one  provided  to  take  care  of 
the  invalid  father  and  demented  mother.  It  was 
because  she  had  interested  charitable  people  in  their 
behalf  that  Elsie  Whayne  found  a  home  in  the 
country  once  more,  and  old  Mrs.  Donegan's  eyes 
had  such  skilful  treatment  from  a  specialist  that 
she  was  able  to  use  them  again.  There  were  a  dozen 
instances  like  that,  but  best  of  all,  she  realized  that 
she  was  responsible  in  a  direct  way  for  the  mirac 
ulous  change  that  took  place  in  Diamond  Row 
itself. 

The  morning  that  Phil  went  away  she  was  too 
much  occupied  to  care  for  such  trivial  matters  as  the 


2 So  MARY   W ARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

daily  papers.  She  did  not  even  glance  at  the  River- 
ville  Herald  to  see  if  it  mentioned  the  fact  that 
she  had  taken  Mrs.  Blythe's  place  on  the  pro 
gramme.  It  was  not  until  late  that  afternoon  that 
she  found  there  was  quite  a  glowing  tribute  to  her 
ability  as  a  speaker.  Sand  ford  Berry  had  written 
it.  He  had  also  done  more.  In  a  way  they  have 
in  newspaper  offices  he  had  taken  the  paper  that 
Mary  loaned  him,  traced  the  article  denouncing 
Burke  Stoner  to  its  source,  and  found  that  the  man 
who  had  written  it  was  now  a  prominent  lawyer 
in  Riverville.  He  had  been  employed  on  the  edi 
torial  staff  of  the  Herald  for  a  short  time  ten  years 
before.  Armed  with  permission  to  use  his  name  if 
necessary,  in  verifying  the  article,  Sandford  Berry 
had  electrified  the  town  the  morning  after  Mary's 
talk,  by  printing  her  description  of  Diamond  Row, 
and  her  burning  appeal  to  the  people  of  Riverville 
to  rise  up  and  wipe  out  the  disgrace  in  their  midst. 
She  had  not  mentioned  Burke  Stoner's  name,  nor 
was  her  name  mentioned  in  connection  with  this 
article.  It  was  for  political  reasons  solely  that  the 
Herald  made  capital  of  it,  stringing  sensational 
headlines  across  the  front  page  in  startling  black 
letters :  "  One  of  to-morrow's  candidates  responsi 
ble  for  death  of  one  tenant  and  maybe  two.  Shame- 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  281 

ful  condition  of  Tenth  and  Myrtle  Street  tenements, 
from  which  millionaire  owner  collects  many  thou 
sands  a  year  rental." 

There  was  a  picture  of  Burke  Stoner,  surrounded 
by  a  circle  of  condemning  snapshots  of  the  base 
ment  room  which  had  filled  Mary  with  such  horror 
on  her  first  visit,  the  stairway  labelled  "  Death-trap 
of  ten  years'  standing,"  and  a  portrait  of  little 
Terence  Reilly,  reproduced  from  the  first  paper. 

Next  morning  Sandford  Berry  called  her  over 
the  telephone  to  say  gleefully,  "  Well,  it  did  the 
work!  Coming  as  it  did  the  last  minute  before 
election  it  simply  wiped  Stoner  off  the  map.  He 
was  defeated  overwhelmingly,  and,  between  you 
and  me  and  the  gate-post,  it  was  your  speech  that 
did  it.  I  took  the  liberty  of  appropriating  it  with 
out  giving  you  any  credit,  for  I  knew  that  you 
wouldn't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  mess  like  that. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  that  you'd  be  the  biggest  beacon 
fire  in  the  lot  when  you  once  got  a-going?  Well, 
you've  started  a  blaze  now  that'll  rage  a  bit.  Tell 
Mrs.  Blythe  that  she'll  have  no  trouble  now  in  get 
ting  the  city  ordinance  she  wanted,  providing  build 
ing  inspectors.  This  Board  of  Aldermen  is  hot 
for  it,  now  that  Stoner  is  out  of  the  way,  and 
losing  this  election  is  going  to  cripple  his  influence 


282  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

through  all  this  part  of  the  state.  It'll  help  the  bill 
you  want  to  put  through  the  next  session  more  than 
you  realize.  You  didn't  have  any  idea  how  far 
your  little  candle  was  throwing  its  beams  when  you 
made  that  speech,  did  you,  Miss  Mary?  Well,  it's 
indeed  a  good  deed  you  did  for  this  naughty  world." 

"  That's  just  Orphant  Annie's  extravagant  way 
of  putting  things,"  thought  Mary,  as  she  hung  up 
the  receiver.  "  My  part  in  it  wouldn't  have 
amounted  to  a  row  of  pins  if  he  hadn't  written  it 
up  so  vividly  with  all  those  scare  headlines.  But, 
still,  I  did  start  it  all,"  she  acknowledged  to  herself, 
"  and  it's  something  to  have  done  that." 

For  a  moment  she  was  elated  by  the  sense  of 
power  that  thrilled  her.  But  the  thought  that  fol 
lowed  had  a  queer  chilling  effect.  If  she  could 
start  such  forces  in  motion  for  the  betterment  of 
the  human  beings  around  her,  had  she  any  right 
to  turn  her  back  on  this  work  which  she  knew  she 
was  called  to,  just  as  definitely  as  Joan  of  Arc  was 
called  to  her  mission? 

Phil's  coming  had  made  her  forget  for  a  little 
space  what  she  had  been  so  very  sure  of  for  many 
months,  that  she  had  been  set  apart  for  some  high 
destiny,  too  great  to  allow  her  own  personal  con 
siderations  to  interfere.  Now,  at  his  call,  she  was 


HER  GREAT  RENUNCIATION  283 

about  to  forsake  her  first  tryst  and  turn  to  him. 
In  just  a  little  while  she  would  leave  it  all  and  give 
herself  wholly  to  him.  Was  it  right  ?  Was  it 
right  ? 

That  question  troubled  her  oftener  as  the  days 
went  by.  Not  when  his  letters  came  and  his  strong 
personality  seemed  to  fold  protectingly  about  her 
while  she  read,  shutting  out  the  doubts  which 
troubled  her.  Not  when  she  sat  with  his  picture 
before  her,  tracing  its  outlines  over  and  over  with 
adoring  eyes.  Not  when  she  gave  herself  up  to 
dreams  of  the  little  home  he  wrote  about  frequently. 
The  little  home  she  would  know  so  well  how  to 
make  into  a  real  hearts'  haven.  She  blessed  the 
old  days  of  hard  times  and  hard  work  now,  for  the 
valuable  lessons  they  had  taught  her. 

But  "  is  it  right  ?  Is  it  right  to  fail  in  the  keep 
ing  of  my  first  tryst  for  this  one  of  purely  selfish 
pleasure?"  she  asked  herself  when  she  saw  the 
changes  that  were  being  wrought  in  Diamond  Row. 
Before  the  winter  went  by  it  had  been  transformed. 
It  was  not  the  sting  of  defeat  which  drove  Burke 
Stoner  to  do  it,  nor  the  sting  of  public  opinion 
aroused  against  him,  but  the  pride  of  his  own 
daughter,  a  girl  of  Mary's  age,  when  she  learned 
the  facts  in  the  case. 


284          -MARy    WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

She  chanced  to  be  in  the  audience  the  day  when 
Mary  made  her  appeal,  and  unaware  that  it  was  her 
father's  property  that  was  being  described,  was  one 
of  the  most  thoroughly  aroused  listeners  in  the 
whole  audience.  But  when  she  saw  her  father's 
picture  in  the  paper  next  day,  set  in  the  midst  of 
others,  proclaiming  him  a  disgrace  to  good  citizen 
ship,  her  mortification  at  being  thus  publicly  shamed 
was  something  pitiful  to  see.  Hitherto  it  had  been 
her  pride  to  see  his  name  heading  popular  subscrip 
tion  lists,  and  to  hear  him  spoken  of  as  the  friend 
of  the  poor,  on  account  of  liberal  donations. 

Nobody  knew  what  kind  of  a  scene  took  place 
when  she  read  the  condemning  headlines,  but  it  was 
reported  that  she  locked  herself  in  her  room  and 
refused  to  see  her  father  for  several  days.  She  was 
his  only  child  and  his  idol,  and  she  had  to  be  paci 
fied  at  any  cost.  So  she  had  her  way  as  usual,  this 
time  to  the  transforming  of  the  whole  of  Diamond 
Row,  and  the  comfort  of  its  inmates. 

It  began  with  drains  and  city  water-works  to 
supplant  the  infected  cistern.  It  moved  on  to  paint 
and  plaster  and  new  floors,  to  the  putting  in  of  a 
skylight  in  two  dark  rooms,  and  the  cutting  of  win 
dows  in  the  third.  And,  more  than  that,  it  led  to 
the  opening  of  both  skylight  and  windows  into  the 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  285 

sympathies  of  Burke  Stoner's  petted  daughter,  and 
led  her  out  of  her  round  of  self-centred  thoughts 
to  unselfish  interest  in  her  unfortunate  neighbors. 
It  is  a  question  which  of  the  two  gained  the  greatest 
inrush  of  sunshine  by  those  openings. 

Mary,  watching  all  this,  felt  alternately  exultant 
that  she  had  been  the  means  of  starting  these 
blessed  changes,  and  depressed  by  the  thought  that 
she  would  be  doing  wrong  if  she  turned  her  back 
on  the  opportunity  of  continuing  such  work. 
Thanksgiving  went  by  and  the  first  of  December. 
As  the  shops  began  to  put  on  holiday  dress  Mary 
began  to  be  more  depressed  than  ever.  The  burden 
of  her  poor  people  pressed  upon  her  more  sorely 
each  day  that  she  listened  to  their  stories  of  the  hard 
winter  and  their  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
But  more  depressing  still  were  the  times  when  old 
Mrs.  Donegan  begged  her  to  come  often,  and  called 
down  the  blessing  of  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar 
upon  her  head,  and  told  her  tearfully  that  it  would 
be  a  sorry  day  for  the  Row  that  took  her  away 
from  it. 

"  It's  God's  own  blessing  you've  been  to  the 
whole  tenement !  "  she  proclaimed  volubly  on  every 
occasion,  and,  remembering  the  changes  that  had 
been  brought  about  directly  and  indirectly  by  her 


286  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

efforts,  Mary  knew  that  it  was  so,  and  felt  all  the 
more  strongly  that  she  would  be  doing  wrong  to 
abandon  the  work. 

Mr.  Blythe  was  able  to  be  out  again  by  Christ 
mas  time.  The  two  boys  came  home  for  the  holi 
days,  and  for  two  weeks  Mary  helped  with  the 
entertaining  that  went  on  in  the  big  house.  There 
was  no  question  now  of  her  going  back  to  the 
boarding-house  at  Mrs.  Crum's.  Mrs.  Blythe  said 
that  having  once  experienced  the  comfort  of  hav 
ing  a  daughter  in  the  house,  she  could  not  dispense 
with  her.  She  could  go  off  to  the  capital  now  with 
a  free  conscience,  leaving  Mary  in  charge  of  the 
establishment.  So,  in  January  she  went,  and  for 
several  weeks  waited  for  the  bill  to  come  up  before 
the  Legislature;  busy  weeks  in  which  she  was 
occupied  all  day  long  in  making  new  friends  for 
her  cause. 

Then  she  wrote  home  cheerfully  that  the  bill  had 
come  up.  There  had  been  much  opposition,  and 
it  had  been  cut  down  and  amended  till  it  would  fit 
only  the  larger  cities  of  the  state.  They  had  gained 
only  a  part  of  what  they  had  asked  for,  but  that 
was  something,  and  they  would  go  on  awakening 
public  sentiment  until  the  next  session,  and  bring 
it  up  again.  The  fight  would  have  to  be  made  all 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  287 

over  again,  but  they  would  make  it  valiantly, 
hoping  for  absolute  victory  next  time.  She  would 
be  home  in  a  few  days. 

Up  till  this  time  Mary  had  not  realized  how 
anxiously  she  was  looking  forward  to  the  passage 
of  the  bill.  Upon  its  fate  depended  her  own,  for 
as  one  draws  straws  to  decide  a  matter,  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  let  its  outcome  settle  the  ques 
tion  which  had  troubled  her  so  long.  If  it  went 
through  successfully,  and  the  State  thus  proved 
that  it  was  fully  awake  to  its  duty,  then  she  would 
feel  that  her  obligation  was  ended.  That  was  the 
specific  work  she  had  pledged  herself  to  do.  But 
if  it  failed  —  well,  it  would  break  her  heart,  but 
she'd  have  to  keep  the  tryst,  no  matter  what  it  cost 
her. 

Her  intense  desire  for  its  success  gradually  led 
her  to  feel  that  it  was  assured,  and  the  news  of  only 
a  partial  victory  left  her  as  undecided  as  before. 
To  escape  the  mood  of  depression  which  seized  her 
the  snowy  Sunday  night  before  Mrs.  Blythe's  re 
turn,  she  put  on  her  wraps  and  slipped  out  to  a 
little  church  in  the  next  block,  hoping  to  find  some 
word  to  quiet  her  unrest,  either  in  song,  service  or 
sermon.  She  sat  listening  almost  feverishly  till  the 
minister  announced  his  text :  "  No  man,  having  put 


288  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  looking  back,  is  fit  for 
the  kingdom  of  God." 

It  was  a  sermon  extolling  sacrifice.  The  minis 
ter,  a  young  man  with  a  thin,  earnest  face  and  deep- 
set  eyes  that  burned  like  two  dark  fires,  seemed  to 
know  no  call  of  the  flesh.  It  was  all  of  the  spirit. 
One  after  another  he  cited  the  examples  of  the 
Father  Damiens,  the  Florence  Nightingales  of  the 
world,  till  the  whole  noble  army  of  martyrs,  the 
goodly  company  of  the  Apostles  were  marshalled 
before  Mary's  accusing  conscience,  and  she  felt  her 
self  condemned  as  unfit  to  stand  with  them,  wholly 
unfit  for  the  kingdom.  The  closing  hymn  was  as 
accusing  as  the  sermon : 

"  The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war.    Who  follows  in  His  train? 

Who  best  can  drink  his  cup  of  woe,  triumphant  over  pain, 
Who  patient  bears  his  cross  below,  he  follows  in  His  train." 

She  went  away  with  those  lines  repeating  them 
selves  in  her  ears.  It  was  still  early  when  she  went 
home,  but  Mr.  Blythe  had  retired,  so  telling  the 
maid  to  close  the  house  for  the  night,  she  went  up 
to  her  own  room,  where  the  fire  burned  cheerfully 
in  the  grate.  She  drew  up  a  little  table  before  it 
and  brought  out  her  writing  material.  She  had 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  289 

made  up  her  mind  to  make  the  supreme  sacrifice 
of  her  life,  even  if  it  killed  her. 

"  Keep  tryst  or  die !  "  she  sobbed,  as  she  took  up 
her  pen.  "  Oh,  Phil !  How  can  I  write  it,  that  I 
must  give  you  up  ?  " 

It  took  a  long  time  to  tell  him.  She  wanted  to 
make  it  perfectly  clear  to  him  that  it  was  breaking 
her  heart  to  do  it.  She  was  afraid  he  wouldn't 
understand  how  she  felt  about  not  being  fit  for  the 
kingdom,  and  it  was  hard  to  put  down  in  black 
and  white  such  a  deeply  personal,  such  a  spiritual 
thing  as  that  experience  of  hearing  the  voices  and 
answering  the  call.  But  in  no  other  way  could  she 
explain.  Twice  she  broke  down  utterly,  and  with 
her  head  on  her  arms  on  the  little  table,  cried  and 
sobbed  with  long  shuddering  gasps  that  shook  her 
convulsively.  Once  she  threw  the  half-finished  let 
ter  into  the  fire,  saying  fiercely  in  a  low  tone,  "  I 
can't!  Oh,  I  can't!  It  would  be  giving  up  more 
than  Father  Damien  did.  It's  more  than  I  can 
bear!" 

But  she  remembered  again  those  awful  words, 
"  No  man,  putting  his  hand  to  the  plough  "  This 
was  looking  back.  She  took  another  sheet  of  paper 
and  patiently  rewrote  all  that  was  on  the  sheets  she 
had  just  burned.  It  was  nearly  morning  when  she 


290  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

finally  sealed  the  envelope  and  crept  into  bed  ex 
hausted  by  the  ordeal.  There  was  no  sense  of 
"  rising  triumphant  over  pain  "  to  reward  her  for 
her  sacrifice,  but  her  stern  little  Puritan  conscience 
found  a  dreary  sort  of  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
she  had  followed  duty,  and  that  nothing  else  mat 
tered. 

"  One  doesn't  have  to  be  happy,"  she  told  her 
self,  over  and  over. 

When  she  awoke  next  morning  and  remembered 
what  she  had  done,  the  bottom  seemed  to  drop  out 
of  the  whole  universe,  and  she  felt  a  hundred  years 
old  as  she  moved  languidly  about  the  room  at  her 
dressing. 

"  But  I  can't  go  on  this  way,"  she  exclaimed, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  her  wan-eyed  reflection  in  the 
mirror.  "  Such  a  half-hearted  sort  of  giving  won't 
do  any  good.  I  shall  have  to  do  as  the  nuns  do  when 
they  shut  their  convent  gate  on  the  world,  shut  it 
entirely  and  forever.  I  shall  have  to  put  away 
everything  that  reminds  me  of  Phil." 

She  glanced  around  the  room.  How  many  re 
minders  there  were,  for  she  had  always  treasured 
everything  he  had  ever  sent  her;  books,  pictures, 
little  curios  picked  up  on  his  travels.  Even  an  odd 
stone  he  had  found  on  the  desert  and  brought  into 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  291 

the  Wigwam  one  day,  she  used  now  as  a  paper 
weight.  An  Indian  basket  he  had  bought  from  an 
old  squaw  at  Hole-in-the-rock  held  her  sewing  ma 
terials.  Just  under  her  hand  on  the  table  lay  the 
little  book  he  had  given  her  to  read  on  the  train 
when  she  was  starting  home  after  Jack's  accident, 
"  The  Jester's  Sword."  As  she  fingered  it  caress 
ingly,  it  seemed  to  open  of  its  own  accord  to  the 
fly-leaf,  where  was  printed  the  line  from  Stevenson : 
"  To  renounce  when  that  shall  be  necessary  and  not 
be  embittered."  And  then  on  the  opposite  page  — 
"  Because  he  was  born  in  Mars'  month  the  blood 
stone  became  his  signet,  sure  token  that  undaunted 
courage  would  be  the  jewel  of  his  soul." 

She  had  thought  those  lines  were  wonderfully 
helpful  when  she  offered  them  to  Jack  as  an  inspira 
tion  to  renew  his  courage,  but  what  a  hollow  mock 
ery  they  seemed  now  that  the  time  had  come  to 
apply  them  to  her  own  case.  Still,  the  thought  of 
the  brave  Jester  persisted,  and  was  with  her  when 
she  went  down  to  breakfast,  and  later  when  she 
went  to  the  station  to  meet  Mrs.  Blythe.  She,  too, 
would  wear  her  sword  of  conquest  so  hidden,  and 
unbeknown,  even  to  those  who  walked  closest  to 
her  side. 

Almost  feverishly  she  threw  herself  into  the  du- 


292  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

ties  of  the  next  few  days,  glad  that  an  accumula 
tion  of  letters  on  Mrs.  Blythe's  desk  kept  her  busy 
at  the  typewriter  all  morning,  and  that  some  in 
vestigating  for  the  Associated  Charities  kept  her 
tramping  about  the  streets  the  rest  of  the  time,  until 
nightfall.  She  thought  that  she  was  hiding  her 
secret  so  successfully  that  no  one  imagined  she  had 
one.  She  talked  more  than  usual  at  the  table,  she 
laughed  at  the  slightest  excuse,  she  joined  spiritedly 
in  the  repartee  at  dinner,  a  time  when  they  nearly 
always  had  guests.  But  keen-eyed  Mrs.  Blythe  saw 
several  things  in  the  course  of  the  week.  She  no 
ticed  her  lack  of  appetite,  the  long  spells  of  abstrac 
tion  that  came  sometimes  after  her  merriest  out 
bursts;  the  deep  shadows  under  her  eyes  of  a 
morning,  as  if  she  had  passed  many  sleepless  hours. 

Then  going  into  her  room  one  day  it  occurred 
to  her  that  Phil's  pictures  were  missing.  There 
had  been  several,  so  prominently  placed  on  mantel, 
dressing-table  and  desk  that  one  saw  them  the  first 
thing  on  entering.  Then  she  noticed  that  the  soli 
taire  was  gone  from  Mary's  finger,  and  was  tempted 
to  ask  the  reason,  but  resisted  the  impulse,  thinking 
that  it  was  probably  because  of  some  trivial  mis 
understanding  which  would  right  itself  in  time. 

One  afternoon,  passing  through  the  lower  end  of 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  293 

the  hall,  she  saw  Mary  sitting  at  the  typewriter  in 
the  alcove  that  had  been  curtained  off  for  an  office. 
She  was  about  to  call  to  her  to  stop  and  get  ready 
for  a  tramp  before  dark,  when  the  postman's  whis 
tle  sounded  across  the  street.  He  was  making  his 
four  o'clock  rounds.  It  was  a  rare  occurrence  for 
him  to  pass  the  house  at  this  time  of  day  without 
leaving  something.  All  winter  it  had  been  the  hour 
at  which  Phil's  daily  letter  was  most  likely  to  ar 
rive.  Mrs.  Blythe  recalled  the  big,  dashing  hand 
in  which  they  were  always  addressed,  and  Mary's 
radiant  face  when  they  arrived. 

Now,  at  the  sounding  of  the  whistle,  the  click 
ing  of  keys  stopped  and  Mary  leaned  forward  to 
look  out  of  the  window,  and  watch  the  progress  of 
the  postman  down  the  avenue.  He  did  not  cross 
over.  As  the  cheerful  whistle  sounded  again,  fur 
ther  down  the  street,  she  suddenly  leaned  her  arms 
on  the  typewriter  in  front  of  her  and  dropped  her 
head  upon  them  in  such  an  attitude  of  utter  hope 
lessness  that  Mrs.  Blythe  hesitated  no  longer. 

"  What's  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  she  asked  kindly, 
putting  her  arms  around  her,  and  Mary,  surprised 
into  confession,  sobbed  out  the  story  of  her  renun 
ciation  on  her  sympathetic  shoulder. 

If  there  was  one  person  in  the  world  whom  Mary 


294  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

thought  would  understand,  who  would  heartily  ap 
prove  of  what  she  had  done,  and  who  would  com 
fort  her  with  due  appreciation  and  praise,  that  per 
son  would  be  Mrs.  Blythe.  But,  to  her  astonish 
ment,  although  the  arm  that  encircled  her  closed 
around  her  with  an  affectionate  embrace,  the  ex 
clamation  that  accompanied  it  was  only,  "  Oh,  you 
dear  little,  blessed  little  goose!" 

It  was  a  shock,  and  yet  there  was  some  note  in 
it  that  gave  Alary  a  glad,  swift  sense  of  relief  and 
comfort.  She  straightened  up  and  wiped  her  eyes. 
Mrs.  Blythe  hurried  to  say : 

"  Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  I  don't  appre 
ciate  to  the  very  fullest  your  motive  in  making  such 
a  sacrifice.  I  think  it  is  very  fine  and  noble  of  you, 
but  —  my  dear  little  girl,  I  don't  believe  it  is  wholly 
necessary.  You  see,  it's  this  way.  The  work  we 
are  trying  to  do  can't  be  accomplished  by  any  one 
person.  If  it  could  you  would  be  gloriously  justified 
in  giving  your  whole  life  up  to  it.  But  it  must  be 
the  work  of  many.  One  little  torch  can't  possibly 
lighten  every  town  in  the  country.  Even  that  great 
est  of  beacons,  the  statue  of  Liberty,  lightens  only 
one  harbor.  All  we  can  hope  to  do  is  to  kindle  the 
unlit  torches  next  to  us,  and  keep  the  circle  of  light 
widening  in  every  direction  till  the  farthest  bound- 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  295 

ary  of  the  farthest  state  is  aglow.  And  you  can  do 
that  wherever  you  go,  Mary.  Very  few  states  have 
their  homes  safeguarded  by  the  law  we  are  trying 
to  get  for  this  one.  And  every  town  and  village  in 
the  United  States  has  the  beginning  of  a  city  slums 
in  some  of  its  corners. 

"  Perhaps  the  very  greatest  thing  you  can  do  for 
the  cause  is  to  show  other  girls  that  they  don't  have 
to  be  like  nuns  in  order  to  help.  They  don't  have  to 
take  any  sort  of  vow  or  veil  that  shuts  them  away 
from  a  normal,  usual  life.  It  is  something  in  which 
social  influence  counts  for  a  very  great  deal.  Be 
cause  I  have  a  home  of  my  own,  and  a  recognized 
social  position,  and  am  a  happy  wife  and  mother, 
people  listen  to  me  far  more  readily  when  I  go  to 
them  with  a  plea  for  less  fortunate  homes  and  wives 
and  mothers.  Mrs.  Philip  Tremont  will  be  able 
to  accomplish  even  more  than  little  Mary  Ware. 
I  cannot  see  where  loyalty  to  Phil  and  loyalty  to 
your  conception  of  what  you  owe  humanity  conflict 
in  the  slightest.  Marriage  may  take  away  the  lei 
sure  that  you  have  now.  Few  women  have  the  time 
to  give  to  a  public  cause  what  I  am  giving.  It  is 
only  of  late  years  that  I  have  had  it  myself.  But 
a  torch  is  a  torch,  no  matter  where  you  put  it,  and 
sometimes  the  lights  streaming  from  cheerful  home 


296  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

windows  make  better  guides  for  the  benighted  trav 
eller  than  the  street  lamp,  whose  sole  purpose  is  to 
give  itself  to  the  public." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  about  it  that  way,"  said  Mary 
slowly,  looking  out  of  the  window  in  order  to  keep 
her  face  averted.  "  Maybe  you're  right,  but  it's 
too  late  for  me  to  take  your  point  of  view,  much 
as  I'd  like  to.  I  wrote  to  Phil  a  week  ago,  and  sent 
back  his  ring,  and  I  made  it  so  clear  that  it  was 
a  matter  of  conscience  with  me,  that  I'm  very  sure 
that  I  convinced  him  that  I  was  doing  the  right 
thing.  At  any  rate,  there  has  been  plenty  of  time 
for  a  reply,  and  I  haven't  had  a  word.  '  Silence 
gives  consent,'  you  know." 

She  spoke  drearily  and  kept  on  looking  out  of 
the  window  so  long  that  Mrs.  Blythe  was  sure  that 
her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  which  she  wanted  to 
hide.  So  she  rose  briskly,  saying,  as  if  the  matter 
were  ended : 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  come  on  and  let's  have  our 
walk.  We  can  tramp  out  to  the  Turnpike  Inn  and 
come  back  by  trolley  before  dark  if  we  start  imme 
diately." 

All  the  way  out  and  back  Mrs.  Blythe  could  see 
what  an  effort  Mary  was  making  to  appear  inter 
ested  in  the  conversation,  but  she  knew  by  intuition 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  297 

that  her  thoughts  were  not  on  the  people  and  places 
they  passed.  Each  way  she  turned  she  was  seeing, 
not  the  -bare  February  landscape,  but  the  handsome, 
laughing  face  she  was  trying  so  hard  to  put  out 
of  her  memory.  It  was  doubly  hard  now  that  Mrs. 
Blythe  had  pronounced  her  renunciation  of  it  un 
necessary.  The  more  Mary  thought  about  it,  the 
more  reasonable  Mrs.  Blythe's  viewpoint  seemed. 
It  was  true  that  Dudley  Blythe's  position  in  the 
professsional  world  gave  his  wife  a  certain  pres 
tige  with  many  people,  and  her  words  a  weight  they 
would  not  have  had  otherwise,  despite  her  own 
personal  charm  and  ability.  And  his  hearty  en 
dorsement  and  cooperation  was  her  strongest  sup 
port. 

"  Maybe  Mrs.  Blythe  was  right,"  thought  Mary. 
Maybe  giving  herself  to  Phil  wouldn't  be  looking 
back  from  the  "  plough  "  to  which  she  had  conse 
crated  herself.  Maybe  it  would  only  be  giving  it 
a  strong,  guiding  hand.  She  certainly  needed  it 
herself,  judging  from  the  mess  she  had  made  of 
her  life  and  Phil's. 

Oddly  enough,  it  was  not  until  that  moment 
that  she  thought  of  him  as  being  particularly  af 
fected  by  her  decision.  Probably  it  was  because 
she  had  always  taken  such  an  humble  attitude  in 


298  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

her  mind  towards  the  Best  Man  that  she  had  not 
realized  it  might  be  as  hard  for  him  to  be  "  re 
nounced  "  as  for  her  to  make  the  sacrifice. 

On  their  return  Mrs.  Blythe  saw  her  quick  glance 
at  the  silver  tray  on  the  hall  table.  Any  letters 
arriving  while  they  were  out  were  always  placed 
there.  It  was  impossible  that  there  should  be  any 
now,  for  the  postman  had  made  his  last  rounds 
before  they  started  out.  Nevertheless,  she  glanced 
hopefully  towards  it,  and  was  turning  away  in  dis 
appointment  when  the  maid,  who  had  heard  their 
latchkey  in  the  door,  came  into  the  hall. 

"  There's  a  caller  in  the  library  for  Miss  Ware," 
she  announced.  "  Been  waiting  nearly  an  hour." 

"  It's  probably  Electa  Dunn,"  said  Mary  listlessly, 
to  whom  the  word  "  waiting  "  brought  up  the  fig 
ure  of  an  unfortunate  little  seamstress  who  had 
spent  a  large  part  of  her  life  in  that  attitude. 

"  I  left  word  that  I  had  some  sewing  for  her  to 
do  and  would  send  the  material  to-morrow.  She 
must  be  more  eager  than  ever  for  work,  else  she 
wouldn't  come  a  day  ahead  of  time  and  wait  till 
dark  to  get  it." 

The  library  door  stood  open  and  the  firelight 
shone  out  cheerfully  across  the  hall,  now  almost 
dark  with  the  shadows  of  the  February  twilight. 


HER   GREAT  RENUNCIATION  299 

Just  that  way  it  had  shone  out  to  meet  her  three 
months  before,  when  she  came  down  and  found 
Phil  there.  That  room  had  seemed  sacred  to  her 
ever  since.  She  wished  the  maid  had  not  sent 
Electa  in  there  to  wait  for  heir.  It  hurt  so  to  have 
to  go  into  it  and  recall  all  that  had  happened  since 
that  meeting.  For  an  instant  her  eyes  closed  and 
her  lips  pressed  together  as  if  an  actual  physical 
pain  had  gripped  her.  Then  she  forced  herself  to 
go  on.  At  the  doorway  she  paused  again  and  passed 
the  back  of  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  sure  that  she 
was  dreaming. 

It  was  all  as  it  had  been  that  never-to-be-forgot 
ten  night.  Some  one  stood  before  the  fire  gazing 
down  into  the  dancing  flames.  It  was  not  the  pa 
tient  little  seamstress,  however.  The  tall,  masterful 
man  that  stood  there  had  never  waited  patiently  for 
anything  in  his  life.  Now,  at  the  sound  of  her 
entrance,  he  turned  and  came  impetuously  towards 
her,  his  face  alight,  his  hands  outstretched. 

Mrs.  Blythe,  half-way  up  the  stairs,  heard  Mary's 
surprised  cry,  "  Oh,  Phil ! "  and  nodded  sagely  to 
herself.  "  He's  come  instead  of  writing,  just  as  I 
thought  he  would.  Wise  man !  " 


CHAPTER   VIII 

HOW    IT    ALL    ENDED 

WHEN  Mary's  letter  with  the  ring  reached  Phil, 
he  was  making  preparations  to  leave  New  York 
that  very  day.  Mr.  Sherman  had  offered  him  a 
partnership  in  one  of  his  enterprises,  with  head 
quarters  in  Louisville.  It  was  a  very  flattering 
offer,  still  Phil  hesitated.  Personally,  he  preferred 
the  position  in  the  far  West,  which  his  former  chief 
had  been  urging  him  all  winter  to  accept.  His  pre 
vious  training  fitted  him  for  one  as  well  as  the 
other,  but  he  had  always  loved  the  West,  always 
felt  its  lure. 

It  was  when  he  considered  Mary,  that  Mr.  Sher 
man's  offer  appealed  to  him  most.  When  he  thought 
of  the  radiant  delight  with  which  she  would  re 
ceive  the  news  that  they  could  cross  over  and  take 
possession  of  her  long-desired  land,  he  was  almost 
persuaded  to  choose  Kentucky,  for  that  one  reason 
alone.  He  was  fully  persuaded  the  morning  her 
letter  arrived,  and  had  just  telegraphed  Mr.  Sher- 

300 


HOW  IT  ALL   ENDED  301 

man  that  he  was  starting  for  Louisville  to  arrange 
matters  at  once. 

It  was  well  for  both  Phil  and  Mary  that  he  had 
known  her  so  long  and  understood  so  thoroughly 
the  ins  and  outs  of  her  honest  little  heart.  This  was 
not  the  first  time  that  he  had  known  her  to  make 
some  renunciation  for  conscience'  sake,  and  al 
though  the  letter,  in  his  own  forcible  parlance, 
"  gave  him  a  jolt "  for  an  hour  or  so,  after  several 
readings  he  folded  it  up  with  a  smile  and  slipped 
it  into  the  package  with  the  others  marked  "  From 
the  Little  Vicar." 

He  hadn't  the  faintest  intention  of  being  "  re 
nounced."  Moreover,  he  was  positive  that  he  had 
only  to  see  her  and  urge  a  few  good  arguments  in 
his  favor,  which  would  convince  her  that  he  would 
never  be  in  the  way  of  what  she  considered  her  duty. 

But  a  very  tender  regard  lay  under  his  smile  of 
amusement,  for  the  attitude  she  had  taken,  and  a 
feeling  of  reverence  possessed  him  as  he  saw  her 
in  the  new  light  which  this  revelation  of  her  spir 
itual  life  gave  him.  "  Nobody  is  good  enough  for 
little  Mary  Ware,"  he  had  said  once,  when  she  was 
a  romping  child.  He  was  thinking  of  her  unselfish 
ness,  her  sturdy  sincerity,  her  undaunted  courage. 
Now  he  repeated  it,  thinking  of  her  as  this  letter 


302  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

revealed  her,  a  white-souled  vestal  maiden  who  took 
the  stars  as  a  symbol  of  her  duty,  and  who  would 
not  swerve  a  hair's-breadth  from  the  orbit  which 
she  thought  was  heaven  appointed. 

Knowing  that  he  could  reach  her  almost  as 
quickly  as  a  letter,  and  confident  that  a  personal 
interview  would  be  a  thousandfold  more  effective, 
Phil  did  not  write.  But  he  took  the  first  train  to 
Louisville,  and  after  a  few  days  with  Mr.  Sherman 
left  for  Riverville,  armed  with  an  argument  and  a 
promise  which  he  was  sure  would  carry  weight  in 
his  behalf.  The  argument  was  that  he  needed  her. 
He  was  about  to  take  charge  of  an  important  busi 
ness  entrusted  to  him,  and  he  could  not  do  it  half 
so  well  without  the  inspiration  of  the  little  home 
she  had  agreed  to  help  him  make.  The  promise  was 
that  marrying  him  should  not  interfere  with  what 
she  considered  her  tryst.  She  should  have  his 
hearty  help  and  cooperation  in  trying  to  do  for 
any  state  which  they  might  move  to,  what  Mrs. 
Blythe  was  doing  for  hers. 

All  this  and  much  more  he  said  in  the  first  im 
petuous  words  of  meeting,  and  almost  before  Mary 
had  recovered  from  the  overwhelming  surprise  of 
seeing  him,  the  ring  was  back  on  her  finger  and 
she  was  listening  to  the  plans  which  he  rapidly  out- 


HOW  IT  ALL  ENDED  303 

lined  to  her.  He  wasn't  going  to  give  her  a  chance 
to  change  her  mind  again,  he  insisted.  There  was 
no  reason  why  they  should  not  be  married  right 
there  in  the  library  the  following  day,  as  soon  as 
he  could  make  the  necessary  arrangements. 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  a  reason,"  gasped  Mary,  aghast 
at  the  sudden  demand.  Then  she  hesitated,  loath 
to  tell  what  it  was.  For  though  it  was  a  weighty 
one  with  her,  she  knew  that  he  would  smile  at  it 
as  childish.  But,  after  all,  it  was  easier  to  confess 
to  Phil  than  any  one  else.  He  seemed  to  under 
stand  perfectly  what  she  meant,  even  when  the 
words  halted  and  failed  to  express  her  innermost 
feelings. 

So,  presently,  she  found  herself  explaining  to  him 
that  it  had  always  been  one  of  her  beliefs  from  the 
time  of  her  earliest  knowledge  of  such  things,  that 
one  couldn't  properly  be  a  bride  without  a  certain 
ceremony  of  preparation.  The  filling  of  a  dower 
chest  was  one  part  of  it,  and  the  setting  of  infinite 
stitches,  each  as  perfect  as  a  tiny  pearl,  in  much 
"  fair  and  broidered  raiment  "  was  another.  The 
princesses  in  the  fairy  tales  did  their  fine  needlework 
to  the  accompaniment  of  songs  upon  a  lute;  so  one 
set  stitches  in  one's  wedding  garments,  to  the  ro 
mance  of  fancies  —  and  so  — 


304  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

She  did  not  finish  coherently,  but  Phil  laughed 
and  said  teasingly  that  he  ought  to  have  known 
that  any  one,  who,  as  a  child,  wept  to  wear  her  rose 
bud  sash  out  walking  on  the  desert,  where  there 
were  only  owls  and  jack-rabbits  to  see  it,  would 
insist  on  veils  and  trails  and  things  at  a  time  like 
this.  He  wouldn't  wait  for  the  filling  of  a  dower 
chest.  She  could  do  that  afterward ;  but  he  was 
finally  induced  to  wait  for  the  other  things,  when 
Mrs.  Blythe  was  brought  into  the  discussion  and 
pronounced  them  actually  necessary. 

He  went  back  to  Louisville  without  telling  Mary 
of  his  arrangement  with  Mr.  Sherman  which  had 
changed  all  his  plans.  The  home  he  had  written  so 
much  about  would  be  ready  for  her,  but  it  would 
not  be  in  the  far  West,  as  she  expected.  He  could 
hardly  wait  for  the  day  to  come  when  he  could 
witness  her  delight  over  the  tremendous  surprise 
which  he  had  in  store  for  her. 

It  was  not  many  weeks  before  he  had  the  pleas 
ure  of  telling  her,  but  it  was  over  two  months  be 
fore  she  made  a  record  of  it  in  her  diary.  Then 
she  wrote : 

"  There  is  room  for  just  one  more  chapter  in 
my  Good  Times  book,  and  when  that  is  finished  it 
is  to  be  laid  away  in  the  chest  with  my  wedding 


HOW  IT  ALL  ENDED  305 

gown  and  bridal  roses.  Maybe,  a  hundred  years 
from  now,  some  young  girl  rummaging  through 
the  attic  may  find  my  beautiful  dress  all  yellowed 
with  time,  and  the  rose  leaves  dried  and  scentless. 
But  I  am  sure  my  happiness  will  call  to  her  from 
these  pages  like  a  living  voice  as  young  as  hers. 

"  And  when  she  sees  how  this  record  is  blistered 
with  tears  in  places,  and  reads  how  Disappointment 
and  Duty  and  even  Death  rose  up  to  *  close  all  the 
roads  of  all  the  world  '  to  me,  then  she'll  take  '  heart 
of  grace '  if  she  is  in  any  desert  of  waiting  herself. 
For  she'll  see  how  true  it  is  that  Love's  road  is 
always  open,  and  that  if  we  only  keep  inflexible  it 
will  finally  lead  to  the  land  of  our  desire.  For  here 
I  am  at  last  in  Lloydsboro  Valley. 

"  It  has  been  more  than  two  months  since  Phil 
and  I  were  married  at  Saint  Mark's  Cathedral  in 
Riverville,  but  I  have  been  too  busy  to  write  the 
chronicles  of  that  important  affair.  No  one  was 
there  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dudley  Blythe.  Dear  old 
Bishop  Chartley  came  down  for  the  ceremony.  His 
warm  friendship  with  Mrs.  Blythe  made  that  ar 
rangement  possible.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  the  great  stained-glass  windows  made  it  seem 
like  twilight,  and  down  the  long  dim  aisles  the  altar 
candles  gleamed  like  stars. 


306          MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

"  I  had  thought  at  first  that  the  vast  place  would 
seem  empty  and  lonesome,  and  that  it  would  be 
queer  not  to  have  the  pews  filled  with  friendly  faces 
at  a  time  like  that.  But  when  I  went  down  the 
aisle  I  wasn't  conscious  of  empty  pews.  The  glori 
ous  organ  music  filled  it,  clear  to  the  vaulted  ceil 
ing.  And  although  Phil  had  teased  me  about  not 
wanting  to  wear  an  ordinary  travelling  dress  and 
hat,  he  had  to  acknowledge  afterward  that  he  was 
glad  I  chose  to  come  to  him  all  in  white  and  in  a 
filmy  tulle  veil.  And  he  said  some  dear  things  about 
the  way  I  looked,  that  were  as  sweet  to  me  as  the 
rose  leaves  I  have  scattered  among  the  folds  of  my 
wedding  gown's  white  loveliness.  I  have  not  put 
what  he  said  into  these  pages  for  the  girl  to  find 
a  century  from  now.  For  fashions  change  so  curi 
ously  that  maybe  she  would  smile  and  say  how  very 
queer  my  old-time  garments  are,  and  wonder  how 
any  man  could  have  made  a  pretty  speech  about 
them. 

"  Phil  proved  he  had  some  sentiment  about  such 
things  himself,  for  soon  after  he  bought  me  a  real 
'  Ginevra '  chest,  all  beautifully  carved,  with  my 
name  engraved  on  the  brass  plate  on  the  lid :  '  Mary 
Ware  Tremont.' 

"  Not  until  we  were  aboard  the  train,  and  he 


HOW  IT  ALL  ENDED  307 

showed  me  our  tickets  marked  Loydsboro  Valley, 
did  I  know  that  we  were  bound  for  Kentucky,  in 
stead  of  the  far  West,  and  not  until  we  were  almost 
there  did  he  spring  his  grand  surprise,  although 
he  was  nearly  choking  with  impatience  to  tell.  Of 
course  I  hadn't  expected  that  we  would  set  up  much 
of  an  establishment.  I  supposed  that  wherever  we 
went  we  would  rent  a  modest  little  cottage,  prob 
ably  in  the  suburbs.  I  knew  that  Phil  couldn't 
afford  much.  He  never  began  to  save  anything  at 
all  until  two  years  ago.  He  confessed  when  he 
first  came  back  from  Mexico  that  it  was  a  lecture 
of  mine  about  providing  a  financial  umbrella  for 
a  possible  rainy  day  which  started  him  to  doing  it, 
and  that  as  expenses  were  light  in  the  construction 
camp,  and  his  pay  very  large,  he  had  put  by  enough 
to  take  us  through  almost  anything,  short  of  a 
cloudburst.  But  that  was  an  emergency  fund,  of 
course,  and  not  to  be  invested  in  houses  and  lands. 

"  He  never  told  me  that  the  tangle  about  his 
Great-aunt  Patricia's  holdings  in  England,  what 
ever  that  may  be,  had  been  straightened  out  at  last, 
and  that  his  share,  paid  to  him  recently,  was  over 
five  thousand  pounds. 

"  That  was  the  first  part  of  the  surprise.  The 
second  was  that  he  had  bought  (mark  that  word, 


308  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED  LAND 

whoever  you  are,  oh,  little  maiden  of  the  far-off 
future,  if  you  ever  come  across  this  record  of  hap 
piness) —  he  had  bought  a  home  in  Lloydsboro 
Valley.  He  had  the  deed  in  his  pocket,  and  he 
showed  how  it  was  made  out  to  me! 

"  Well,  when  the  time  comes  for  me  '  to  read  my 
title  clear  to  mansions  in  the  skies,'  I  may  be  hap 
pier  than  I  was  that  moment,  but  I  doubt  it.  I 
don't  see  how  it  could  be  possible.  And  when  I 
got  it  through  my  bewildered  brain  that  it  was 
Green  Acres  that  was  meant  by  all  the  queer  meas 
urements  and  descriptions  in  the  deed,  I  lost  my 
head  altogether,  and  Phil  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  that  his  surprise  was  absolute,  supreme  and 
overpowering.  It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true. 

"  Green  Acres  is  just  across  the  road  from  Oak- 
lea.  The  grounds  don't  make  you  think  of  a  big, 
stately  park  as  Oaklea  does.  It  is  more  countrified. 
But  it  is  the  dearest,  most  homelike,  inviting  old 
place  that  one  can  imagine.  I  had  been  there  sev 
eral  times  with  Lloyd  and  Mrs.  Sherman,  and  re 
membered  it  as  a  real  picture-book  sort  of  house, 
with  its  low  gables  and  quaint  casement  windows. 
I  remembered  that  it  had  a  garden  gay  as  Grand 
mother  Ware's,  with  its  holly-hocks  and  prince's 
feathers,  its  marigolds  and  yellow  roses;  and  that 


HOW   IT   ALL   ENDED  309 

it  had  mint  and  sage  and  all  sorts  of  spicy,  savory 
things  in  some  of  its  borders.  But  I  didn't  know 
half  of  its  charms.  Now,  after  two  months,  I  am 
just  beginning  to  discover  the  extent  of  them. 

"  When  a  family  has  owned  a  place  for  three 
generations,  as  the  Wyckliffes  did  Green  Acres,  and 
have  spent  their  time  making  it  livable  and  lovable, 
the  result  leaves  little  more  to  be  wished  for.  The 
hillside  that  slopes  down  from  the  back  of  the  house 
has  a  small  orchard  on  part  of  it  and  a  smaller  vine 
yard  on  the  other,  but  both  quite  ample  for  our 
needs.  Down  at  the  bottom  a  little  brook  trickles 
along  from  a  cold  spring,  and  watercress  and  for 
get-me-nots  grow  along  its  edges.  The  apple  trees 
are  in  bloom  now.  This  morning  I  spent  a  whole 
hour  up  in  the  gnarly  crotch  of  one  of  them,  doing 
nothing  but  enjoying  to  the  fullest  the  sweetness 
of  their  white  and  pink  glory. 

"  When  we  came  only  the  early  wildflowers  were 
out,  but  all  the  knoll  between  the  gate  and  the  house 
looked  as  if  there  had  been  a  snowfall  of  anemones 
and  spring  beauties.  It  isn't  possible  to  put  into 
black  and  white  the  joy  of  that  first  home-coming. 
We  walked  up  from  the  station,  and  when  we  went 
through  the  great  gate  and  heard  it  click  behind  us, 
shutting  us  in  on  our  own  grounds,  we  turned  and 


310  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

looked  at  each  other  and  laughed  like  delighted 
children.  It  was  as  if  we  had  reached  that  land 
that  we  used  to  sing  about,  where 

"  '  Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 
Stand  dressed  in  living  green.' 

No  wonder  they  named  the  place  Green  Acres ! 

"  We  left  the  wide  driveway  that  winds  around 
the  hill  to  the  house,  and  took  the  little  path  that 
leads  straight  up  to  it  under  the  trees.  The  foot 
path  to  peace,  Phil  calls  it. 

"  There  was  smoke  coming  out  of  the  kitchen 
chimney,  for  Lloyd  and  Mrs.  Sherman  had  been  in 
the  secret  and  had  helped  Phil  as  industriously  as 
the  two  genii  of  the  Bottle  to  get  everything  ready. 
He  had  bought  some  of  the  furniture  with  the 
house,  some  they  had  helped  him  choose  and  some 
they  waited  for  me  to  select  myself.  But  there  was 
enough  to  make  the  place  livable  right  away,  and 
there  wasn't  a  room  in  the  house  that  didn't  look 
comfortable  and  inviting. 

"  And  there  was  May  Lily  installed  in  the  kitchen 
as  temporary  cook,  and  perfectly  willing  to  stay  if 
I  wanted  her.  As  if  there  could  be  any  question 
as  to  that!  If  there  was  anything  needed  to  make 
it  seem  more  homelike  than  it  already  was,  I  found 


HOW  IT  ALL   ENDED  311 

it  when  we  started  out  to  explore  the  back  premises. 
A  fussy  old  hen,  with  her  feathers  all  fluffed  out 
importantly,  was  clucking  and  scratching  for  a 
brood  of  downy  yellow  chickens,  just  out  of  the 
shell.  Old  Mom  Beck  had  sent  them  over  as  a 
wedding  present,  May  Lily  said. 

"  When  we  had  been  all  through  the  orchard 
and  down  to  the  spring,  and  had  discovered  the 
rows  of  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes  at  the  end 
of  the  garden,  Phil  said  in  a  careless  off-hand  way 
that  we  might  as  well  take  a  look  through  the  barn. 
By  this  time  I  had  exhausted  my  whole  stock  of 
exclamations,  so  I  hadn't  another  word  left  when 
he  led  me  up  to  a  stall,  where  stood  one  of  the 
prettiest  bay  saddle  horses  I  ever  saw  in  my 
whole  life.  That  was  Father  Tremont's  present 
to  me. 

"  '  Daddy  didn't  know  what  would  please  you 
most/  Phil  said,  '  but  I  remembered  the  pleasure 
you  used  to  take  in  old  Washington  out  at  the 
Wigwam,  and  Lloyd  insisted  that  you  would  like 
a  riding  horse  better  than  anything  else.  She 
rides  every  day  herself,  and  was  sure  you 
would  enjoy  joining  her  on  her  gallops  across 
country/ 

"  Well,  by  that  time,  being  speechless,  all  I  could 


312  MARY   WARE'S   PROMISED   LAND 

do  was  to  put  my  arms  around  the  beautiful  crea 
ture's  satiny  neck  and  cry  a  bit  into  her  glossy  mane. 
The  sheer  happiness  of  having  so  many  of  my  cher 
ished  dreams  come  true  all  at  once  was  too  much 
for  me.  Her  name  was  Silver-wings,  but  from  that 
moment  I  called  her  Joy. 

"  All  afternoon  I  kept  discovering  things.  When 
we  sat  down  to  dinner  that  night,  our  first  meal 
together  (Lloyd  had  told  May  Lily  exactly  what 
to  do),  a  lot  of  the  silver  was  marked  Tremont,  for 
the  doctor  had  divided  all  of  Aunt  Patricia's  silver 
that  came  down  from  her  grandfather's  family 
equally  among  Elsie  and  Stuart  and  Phil.  But 
there  were  some  beautiful  pieces  from  Lloyd  and 
the  old  Colonel,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sherman.  Stu 
art  and  Eugenia  had  sent  quantities  of  fine  table 
linen. 

"  The  last  surprise  of  the  day  was  the  house- 
warming.  Everybody  had  stayed  away  till  then,  to 
let  us  have  time  to  '  spy  out  the  land  and  possess 
it.'  Lloyd  and  Rob  were  the  first  to  come  over, 
then  Gay  and  Alex  Shelby.  They  have  just  gone 
to  housekeeping  in  the  Lindsey  cabin.  Every  old 
friend  in  the  Valley  came  before  the  evening  was 
over,  and  gave  us  a  royal  welcome/  as  warm  and 
heartening  as  the  blaze  which  we  parted  in  the  big 


HOW   IT   ALL   ENDED 

fireplace.     When  the  Colonel  went  away  he  quoted 
from  the  Hanging  of  the  Crane, 

"'Oh,  fortunate,  oh,  happy  day 

When  a  new  household  has  its  birth 
Amid  the  myriad  homes  of  earth.' 

"  He  said  that  Green  Acres  had  always  been  the 
synonym  for  whole-souled  hospitality,  but  that  we 
had  even  surpassed  its  best  traditions. 

'*  There  isn't  room  for  much  more  in  this  little 
book;   only  a  few  pages  are  left,  so  I  can't  crowd 
into  it  all  the  good  times  of  the  last  two  months, 
but  I  must  make  mention  of  the  delightful  rides  I     S 
have  had  with  Lloyd,  and  the  times  when  she  and 
Gay  and  I  have  spent  the  day  together  in  good  old 
Valley  fashion.     Just  to  be  this  near  my  Princess 
Winsome  and  to  see  her  daily  is  a  constant  joy. 
She  is  lovelier  and  more  winsome  than  she  ever  wa 
before. 

"  I  must  put  on  record  that  I  have  proved  what 
Mrs.  Blythe  said  to  be  true  about  the  light  from 
happy  home  windows  being  the  best  guide  for  be 
nighted  travellers,  and  that  social  influence  counts 
so  greatly  in  the  work  we  are  trying  to  do.  Al 
ready  I  am  beginning  to  see  that  as  Mistress 
Green  Acres  I  shall  be  able  to  accomplish  far  m 


314  MARY   W ARE'S   PROMISED  LAND 

than  little  Mary  Ware  ever  did.  Of  course,  that 
might  not  be  possible  if  Phil  were  not  in  hearty 
sympathy  with  what  I  want  to  do.  But  he  is  thor 
oughly  interested  himself. 

"  The  other  night  at  the  Moores  I  overheard  him 
discussing  Housing  Reform  with  Judge  Abbott  of 
Lexington,  as  warmly  as  Mrs.  Blythe  could  have 
done.  Finally  the  whole  dinner  party  took  it  up, 
and  Mrs.  Abbott  said  that  her  club  had  been  inter 
ested  in  the  subject  for  some  time,  and  all  they 
need  is  for  some  one  to  take  the  initiative.  The 
Abbotts  were  staying  several  days  with  Lloyd  and 
Rob,  so  next  night  I  had  them  over  here.  After 
dinner  I  took  them  up  into  my  '  Place  of  the 
Tryst.'  Of  course,  I  don't  call  it  that  to  anybody 
but  Phil,  and  he  has  dubbed  it  the  Chamber  of 
Horrors. 

"  It's  just  a  big  empty  room  up  in  one  of  the 
gables.  There  is  nothing  in  it  but  a  desk  and  a 
table  and  some  chairs  and  the  typewriter  that  I 
bought  with  the  check  which  Jack  sent  me.  But 
around  the  walls  are  copies  of  the  photographs  we 
used  as  posters  in  Riverville  to  arouse  the  public, 
and  had  hanging  in  the  corridors  of  the  State  House 
all  during  the  session  of  the  Legislature.  They 
are  the  very  worst  tenement  views  we  could  get, 


HOW   IT   ALL   ENDED  315 

like  that  basement  in  Diamond  Row,  and  some  of 
the  windowless  rooms  taken  by  flashlight. 

"  Judge  Abbott  said  he  knew  that  there  are  places 
every  bit  as  bad  in  Lexington  and  Frankfort  and 
Covington,  and  Mr.  Sherman  and  Alex  Shelby  said 
there  were  scores  even  worse  in  Louisville.  Miss 
Allison  told  some  experiences  a  friend  of  hers  had 
in  exploring  alleys  in  some  of  the  smaller  towns, 
and  presently  the  whole  little  company,  representing 
several  different  parts  of  the  state,  were  all  ablaze 
from  that  one  toucfl  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  torch. 

"  When  I  first  fitted  up  the  room,  Phil  said  that 
it  didn't  seem  right  that  a  Chamber  of  Horrors 
should  have  a  place  in  such  a  perfect  home.  But 
I  told  him  that  we  needed  it  to  keep  us  from  '  join 
ing  ourselves  to  idols,'  as  Ephraim  did.  That  is 
the  danger  that  always  menaces  people  when  they 
get  over  into  their  Promised  Land.  We  might  be 
tempted  to  think  so  much  of  our  dear  possessions 
that  we'd  make  idols  of  them  sure  enough,  and 
forget  all  about  the  wofk  we  had  pledged  ourselves 
to  do.  No  one  has  a  right  to  settle  down  to  the  full 
possession  and  full  enjoyment  of  any  Canaan,  until 
he  has  put  to  flight  every  Hittite  and  Gittite  that 
preys  upon  its  internal  peace. 

"  They  all  seemed  surprised  to  see  my  typewriter, 


316  MARY   WARE'S  PROMISED   LAND 

but  I  told  them  how  I  had  used  Mrs.  Blythe's,  and 
that  this  one  is  dedicated  to  the  same  cause.  That 
I  expected  to  write  hundreds  of  letters  just  as  soon 
as  I  found  out  who  were  the  most  influential  people 
to  address.  Right  then  and  there  the  movement 
started.  Every  man  there  promised  me  a  list  of 
his  personal  acquaintances  who  had  big  influence, 
and  said  he'd  gladly  put  his  signature  to  any  letter 
or  petition  that  would  help  get  what  we  wanted. 
Lloyd  and  Miss  Allison  are  both  members  of  the 
Women's  Club  in  Louisville,  and  they  asked  me  to 
join,  and  are  as  enthusiastic  as  heart  could  wish. 
Judge  Abbott  took  a  copy  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  bill  to 
look  it  over  and  see  how  it  could  be  amended  to 
put  before  the  Kentucky  Legislature,  so  already  I 
feel  that  something  has  been  accomplished.  It  is 
something  just  to  get  a  start. 

"  Once,  long  ago,  the  old  Colonel  remarked  that 
I  had  it  in  my  power  to  become  an  honor  to  my  sex 
and  one  of  the  most  interesting  women  of  my  gen 
eration.  My  family  used  to  quote  it  to  me  to  tease 
me,  on  all  occasions,  but  for  years  it  was  one  of  my 
highest  ambitions  to  .become  what  he  had  prophe 
sied.  It  is  something  else  that  I  crave  now. 

"  I  write  it  here  on  the  last  page  and  lay  it  away 
under  the  white  tulle  and  the  rose  leaves,  for  some 


HOW   IT   ALL   ENDED  317 

one  to  bring  to  light  long  years  from  now.  It  will 
be  the  crowning  happiness  of  my  happy  life,  if  she 
who  reads  may  chance  to  have  heard  that  my  wish 
found  fulfilment.  For  then  she  can  add  *  She  was 
a  blessing  to  her  generation  and  a  torch  that  helped 
to  light  the  way  for  all  who  came  after  her.' " 


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A— 6 


UINlVtKSllY   O*   CALIJtOKmA   LltSKAKY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


RfC'D 


OCT031988 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS2137  J641m 
yr 


L  009  545  433  6 


IBBAW0A, 


